In the Company of Children
by Winam
Summary: A slightly alternate version of the events of North and South, from the point of view of its main protagonists.
1. Chapter 1

In the Company of Children

By Winam

_These characters are over 150 years old so they aren't mine, however much I want them to be!_

Chapter 1

The winter had gone on but it was noticeably milder in London where there was at least hope in the buds that were beginning to form. Edith and Aunt Shaw had gone to pay an afternoon visit and had insisted I joined them. That was until Sholto threw one of his well-timed fits of passion.

"Oh Sholto, why do you always choose to cry when your mamma is almost out the door?"

"Don't worry, Edith." I assured her, "I will stay and calm him down."

"But Margaret, I counted on you to come with me to the Pipers! We must call after the glorious ball they gave last week."

I did not tell Edith that the ball was like any other in the London season – the usual empty spectacle of society stalwarts alongside new money desperate to make their mark. I spent the entire night beside Aunt Shaw and thought it remarkable that it was not so long since Edith and I talked of dresses, balls and prospective suitors. She and Aunt Shaw of course made countless entreaties for me to dance, and there were offers – none successful.

Aunt Shaw shook her head at my refusals, remarking, "My dear, I'm sure the North has made you forget the ways of polite society. We must get you back on track. No man wants to marry a lady so… wilful and outspoken, you know!"

I hardly listened to her lectures, instead letting my mind wander back to that little terrace house in Milton. Three months in London could not erase my memories there. For the first month I hardly left the house. Papa's passing and its aftermath had exhausted all my reserves. I was numb and wallowed in the self-pity that came from losing everyone I had cared for. Tears formed as I thought of my father, so gentle, so good to everyone. I missed him dreadfully and this longing renewed my grief for Mama and Bessie. Yet equal to this grief was my ache for the one who did not even care for me – Mr. Thornton – whose disapproving looks and speeches were almost a joy to recall now that they were no more.

Gradually the pain receded bringing reality that seeped through the numbness. I found myself cocooned in the luxury of Harley Street where everything was perfect, from the décor to the teas that appeared like clockwork. The occupants of Harley Street languished in style, unaware of the world outside or below in the dark corridors of the servant halls. In all my years in this house I had never noticed how easy life was here. The mundane Milton activities of taking Papa his tea, talking to Nicholas or helping Dixon in the kitchen seemed enthralling compared to the dull ease of London life.

After a time, I longed to be amongst people who cared not for frippery but for the land. As a child, the simplicity of a walk in the forest with Papa was enough to fill my day with joy and I yearned to experience that joy again. My childhood home of Helstone became the embodiment of perfection and a much-needed constant in my turbulent life, but even progress had not bypassed Helstone.

On my return with Mr. Bell I found that children grew, the elderly passed away, families came and went. Even the parsonage was almost unrecognisable after much renovation by the new vicar. Attitudes changed too, or perhaps mine did as I could no longer see things as I used to.

I used to be wary of love. I was afraid of its power to consume, to override reason and dilute identity. From observation I knew that love often went astray. Mother and Father may have started out in love but lack of communication and years of misunderstandings had wearied them into shadows of their former selves. With my whole future at stake, how was I to recognise love when I had never loved before? How could I be certain that that love was right? With these questions plaguing my mind, I asked Edith how she knew that she loved Captain Lennox, that he was the one she wanted to marry. Her answer was frustratingly simple – she felt it in her heart.

There was truth in Edith's words. When Henry proposed I rejected him – I knew that what I felt could never be more than brotherly love. What I felt for Mr Thornton could never be mistaken as 'brotherly'. My first sight of him was in his mill where he stood majestically above the roar of the machines, the swirling cotton and the multitude of workers. His upright and masculine figure invoked feelings so far removed from the gentle affection I held for Henry that I hardly knew what to call it.

Around him I felt so combustible, so self-conscious, so unlike myself. Mr. Thornton was the only person who could consistently make me lose my sanguine temper, whose blue eyes could look with such intensity as to see right through my pretences. The lightest of touches felt like a brand on my skin and I was certain that my heart physically swayed at the sound of his voice. Little did I realise that these symptoms were the inklings of love.

When Sholto's cries grew louder Edith finally agreed to my assistance and gladly departed with Aunt Shaw. I sought out Sholto by following the echo of his wails.

"I want Mamma!" he cried as he tossed his little body about the nursery floor. Hanley, the nursemaid, tried to scold him into silence without success but I did not indulge him in his want for attention. Instead, I silently dismissed Hanley and then seated myself at Sholto's small table. Gathering the toy infantry, horses, cannons and officers that were strewn about, I picked up what looked to be a captain and called out,

"Look Sholto, here is Papa!"

"No!" he replied.

"He's riding a horse..." I said playfully, galloping the 'Captain' around the table.

"I don't want to play."

I continued on regardless and gradually his sobs lessened. By the time I had manoeuvred the opposing armies into position he was at my side. Lifting Sholto into my lap, I kissed his tear-stained cheek while he took command. It reminded me of the times Frederick and I would play with his toy soldiers on rainy afternoons. Afterwards Papa would tell us stories of Greek gods and their battles long ago. We sat spellbound at his feet, wishing we could be as strong as Achilles or as beautiful as Helen. Our family was so happy in the days before Frederick went to sea. What sorrows had we suffered since!

Sholto and I played happily, our soldiers fighting duels, our horses charging across the table. The sight of him so immersed in play turned my thoughts again to Mr. Thornton. What was he like as a child? It was initially difficult to see him as anything but a man, but when he was in animated discussion with Papa he seemed years younger. The vibrancy of his smile dispelled all shadow and his rumbling laughter filled the room.

How delightful a boy he must have been! I could comprehend his mother's pride at rearing such an intelligent, studious, and energetic son, who worked tirelessly to redeem the integrity of his family. The mill was a testament to his strength and resolve but what would he become if it was lost as his growing financial difficulties foretold? It was distressing to think that his childlike qualities may vanish forever.

At the sound of the bell, Hanley returned. "It's time for Master's bath now, ma'am. And tea is ready for you in the drawing room."

"Thank you, Hanley." I replied, only to be seized by Sholto.

"Don't go, Aunty!" he cried as he tugged at my sleeve.

I gave way at the sight of his crumpled face. "Alright, Sholto. Still, you must have your bath but I will read you a story afterwards."

He threw his arms around my neck. "I love you, Aunt Margaret!" he cried, kissing my cheek. Oh, little Sholto! How I wished you were my own! My heart was too full to do anything but kiss his brow in return before Hanley led him away.

I made my way to the drawing room where the tea and cakes had been so elegantly laid out on the sideboard. After carefully pouring the tea into a fine bone china cup I seated myself on the sofa and listened to the faint clattering of the carts and carriages outside. I could not help but ponder further about the one utmost in my mind.

It was astonishing that my acquaintance with Mr. Thornton could spurn any level of affection, let alone love. And yet love did emerge, though unexpected and initially unwonted. I was shocked when Mr. Thornton proposed after I had thrown my arms around him in defence against the rioters. My cheeks burned as I imagined how I must have appeared. He should have been ashamed of my behaviour, yet somehow he admired me for it, loved me for it, and wanted to marry me!

How could he love me when I had previously been so uncivil to him? I reasoned at the time that he must have proposed out of obligation, and accused him so. I bitterly declared that he was not a gentleman, was incapable of love, but he defended his feelings so passionately that it left me in no doubt his intentions were genuine. I wanted to retract my spiteful words as soon as he departed, but they had already penetrated, and deeply, judging by the hurt evident in his eyes whenever we met. Nonetheless, though it pained him to see me he became more caring than I had ever known him to be.

He was attentive to my mother during her illness, took on Nicholas at the mill and showed interest in Tom Boucher's schooling. More recently he had sponsored a dinner scheme for his workers and I was astounded to hear Dixon declare him "exceedingly helpful" in finding a tenant for the house. His continued civility made me acutely aware of how much I misjudged him. Though hard, he was not heartless. Unlike my own treatment of him, he had not let his bitterness overcome his kindness or his justice.

All of this strengthened my regard for him and re-enforced just how extraordinary he was. He was courageous enough to declare his love even though he knew it was not reciprocated. If I had not let my prejudice rule over my heart I would have been conscious of the honour that his love brought and loved him in return. To the chagrin of my mind, my heart had plunged headlong into an impossible love for one who held me in contempt.

There will be no opportunities to redeem myself. I will never be able to tell him of Frederick, of the incident at the station or why I had lied. With knowledge of my deceit, thinking me indifferent and attached to another, he will not renew his love. How I empathised with his pain now that I was experiencing the very same despair! It was agonising to know that the one you loved was the one most indifferent. My sins had truly earned me this lifetime of exile.

A knock announced the return of Hanley. "Miss Hale, the master is ready now." I followed Hanley to Sholto's bedchamber. As I entered I saw that he was sitting up in bed, eagerly awaiting my arrival.

"Are you ready for your story?" I asked.

"Yes, Aunty!"

I smiled at his keenness and caressed his soft hair. Taking the large volume from the bedside table and I opened it to read the familiar opening,

"Once upon a time, in a land far, far away…"

The story was one that I had read many times in childhood – a princess who was cursed from birth and at a prick of a finger fell asleep for a hundred years until awakened by the kiss of a handsome prince. This indolent life felt like a deep sleep, but I had no prince to come to my rescue.

I read the familiar story, acting out the various characters, but the day's exertions had taken its toll on Sholto and after a time his eyes drooped into a peaceful slumber. I set aside the book and studied his little form. How angelic he looked in his sleep! Gently stroking his hair, I marvelled at his innocence and beauty. These were golden moments of pleasure, rare in the grey landscape of my life. I wished that this sense of peace could be as constant as sunlight on a clear day yet I knew that they would merely be intermittent shafts in a storm.

If a fairy godmother could grant me all the wishes of my heart, then instead of being burdened by this unbearable guilt I would explain my indiscretions to Mr. Thornton and be free.

Instead of merely giving Mr. Thornton Father's Plato, I would give him my heart.

Instead of rejecting him so emphatically I would take his strong hands and kiss them with gratitude, so unspeakably precious he was to me.

Instead of scorn, his piercing eyes would be filled with love.

Instead of this eternal separation we would be together in Milton, our future full of the smiles and the laughter of our children.

So I closed my eyes. And wished.


	2. Chapter 2

In the Company of Children

By Winam

Chapter 2

The accounts were in a mess and the pressing meeting with Latimer the banker was tomorrow. I glanced up at the clock – fifteen minutes until the final whistle. Winter had dragged its chilly feet into spring and even a raging fire could not ward off the wind that hissed through the cracks.

When the numbers blurred, I looked out of the window for relief. The yard was dark except for the sole lantern by the mill door. On the steps by the door sat little Tom Boucher, hugging his coat close with one hand while holding a book with the other. He read every night by the dim light while he waited for Higgins. Though I did not usually meddle in the affairs of my workers, that night I felt ashamed to be in my warm room while a child shivered outside.

I stepped down the stairs into the yard. Tom stared resolutely at his book.

"What have you there?" I asked as I approached.

"A book Mary gave me." he mumbled.

After a short silence I asked, "Aren't you cold sitting out here?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Tell you what, why don't you wait in my office where it's warmer? I'll keep an eye out for Higgins." I offered my hand and after a moment's thought he put his small hand in mine.

I had never felt an affinity with children. Having been thrust prematurely into adulthood, I could scarcely remember what it was like to be a child. But with Tom I felt differently. We shared a common history – the eldest sons of fathers who had ruined their families through weakness. Fortunately, Tom was too young to fully understand the circumstances of his father's death. I was not so lucky.

I was fourteen when my father died but my recollection of the day remained vivid. I came home from school to a silent house. I did not think it unusual since my father was often away on business, and Fanny, still a baby, was probably napping. It was only when I saw my mother sitting straight-backed in her chair, eyes cast downwards, that I knew something was wrong. Usually Mother's hands were never idle, a needle or a quill always in motion. That day her hands were carefully folded in her lap, still. She raised her eyes when she heard me approach. They were hard with pain and grief and anger.

"John." That was all it took for me to put my arms around her, trying hopelessly to comfort whatever had hurt her. Mother wasn't one to keep secrets even if it sheltered others from pain. She took my face in her hands and explained quietly and simply what had happened to my father. Her eyes shone with absolute love and trust as my sight blurred with unshed tears.

"John," she said, "you are now the head of the family. Be strong and proud and never fail to do your best. I have faith in you and know that you will not fail."

Those words had strengthened me these last sixteen years through much struggle and self-denial. My family now wanted for nothing, but things could have been different if it weren't for my mother's strength and courage.

Fortunately for Tom, he had Higgins to guide him. Higgins was an intriguing man. He was a robust, intelligent, upright character, who was more than willing to shoulder burdens. The more I became acquainted with him, the more I admired him. How could I ever call a man who adopted six children a troublemaker? I was the one who was blinded by prejudice, and I would have never seen past them if it weren't for Margaret.

Everyday I was reminded of her by the mention of her name, the sight of a raven-haired girl in the street or a bowl of fruit on the table. Yet I did not want to forget her and read daily from her father's Plato in remembrance. How mournful her face looked as she gifted me the book at our final meeting. I was so immersed in my sorrow that I could hardly speak except to whisper, "So, you _are_ going." I was so overcome by her gentle "I wish you well, Mr. Thornton" that I had to turn away to gain control. If our families were not in the room I would have taken her into my arms and begged her to stay. But I did nothing and watched her carriage pull away in the snow, silently hoping that she would look back, knowing all the while that she would not.

I led Tom up the stairs to the office and seated him on a stool by the fire. I took up my quill and was on the verge of dipping it into the inkwell but the sight of the lad struggling through a mountain of words made me rest it once more. I seated myself beside Tom and listened as he read slowly and carefully, sounding out the unknown words, skimming over the familiar ones. I gave him a few hints when he struggled but he did not need much prompting.

Tom had certainly improved in the few short months since he had been at school. Boucher had neglected his children's education but Higgins was very particular and would have spent the rest of his life working to see all the children through school. Although my schooling was cut short I was determined to give these children the opportunity to learn. Higgins was apprehensive of my offer at first – he did not want to be indebted for something he could not pay back – but in my eyes he had already repaid tenfold the risk I took in taking him on. I was certain that my investment in Tom's education would be as equally fruitful from the progress he made so far.

"Sir?" Tom's tiny voice broke through my thoughts. "How do you say this word here?"

I sounded the word he pointed to slowly and clearly. His first attempt was tentative but he quickly gained confidence.

"Well done, Tom." I smiled and was pleased that he smiled in return. Smiles like his were like rays of light through a soiled window. Before Margaret I hardly knew such light existed and hence never sought it. Now that I have seen it, I craved to experience it again. I wanted to gaze at beautiful Margaret's face with her warm and translucent smiles, see her regal figure walking down Milton streets. I longed to hear her soft tones and decipher the logic of her arguments. Despite our differences of opinion, I felt that it was she who had judged most rightly.

It was at her insistence that I took Higgins on. It was her heart that looked past his roughness and saw the goodness and nobility that I now admired. To be blessed with such a heart, unlimited in its generosity, courageous in its endeavours! Higgins had praised the care and friendship that she gave his ailing daughter and the Bouchers. I had witnessed her courage first hand on the day of the riots, her arms around my neck as she shielded the blows that were meant for me. Her courage would empower her to protect those who were oppressed, her heart would give anything to those whom she loved.

I was jealous of that slight, handsome man at the station, the recipient of her loving embrace. She had protected him, lied for him, and borne all manner of disgrace for him. Margaret, why could you not accept my heart, unworthy though I am? Am I so repulsive? I would not have tainted you or made you suffer so! I would have comforted you, shouldered the many burdens that the North forced upon you. I would not have left you to suffer alone if you had let me into your heart. Yet despite my good intentions, I had also made her suffer by not curbing my bitterness. I regretted every rash word I had uttered but my remorse came too late. She was out of reach, in the South where I would never see her again.

"Are you sad, Sir?"

Smiling bitterly, I ruffled Tom's fair head. Was my grief so transparent, even to a seven year-old boy? I tried to recall a time when I was truly happy and found myself thinking back to when Father was still alive. Before the troubles started I was able to learn without limit, play without responsibility, read without guilt. I was happiest with a book in hand, discovering an ancient Greek legend or a Roman emperor. I dreamed of exploring the darkest continents and discovering lost cities. Of course, all of those dreams fell by the wayside when reality encroached.

How different Margaret's childhood must have been! Mr. Hale often talked about his life in Helstone – how he would conduct services, visit parishioners on foot and see to their needs. Margaret was his constant companion on these visits whenever she was home from London. I pictured her as a girl, walking merrily along side her father down a forest lane. How wondrous would it have been to grow up carefree in such a place! I yearned to see that little village, to breathe in the air unsullied by soot and to wander about the village green, absorbing her essence – anything to fill the gaping hole left by her absence.

The final whistle sounded. Higgins would soon be wanting Tom yet I loathed to end this last quarter of an hour, when I felt at peace. I paced to the window and watched the hands file out, acknowledging the one or two nods that came my way. Higgins was one of the last to emerge from the mill and looked about in surprise when he saw that Tom was not at his usual place. He was evidently worried when I called him up to the office.

"Where is Tom, master?" he demanded, but sighed with relief when he saw the child by the fire. "Master, you shouldn't have. Tom is a tough 'un, not one to mind a bit o' wind. You have too much to do these days to be minding children."

I glanced at Tom, content with his seat by the fire. It came to mind that I enjoyed his company, that his quiet presence had put my wayward emotions into perspective, that I wanted this companionship to continue.

"No, Higgins. Tom is no trouble. I'd prefer that he wait here where it's safe than outside." Walking to the fireplace, I asked Tom, "Would you like to come again tomorrow?"

He nodded in reply, the tiniest of grins on his face.

"Well, I can only say thank you, Master." Higgins said as he lifted the boy gently from his seat. "Say goodnight, Tom."

"Goodnight, Sir. Thank you."

"I will see you both tomorrow then."

When the door closed behind them, my mind gave way to dreams long repressed – of Margaret nursing our tiny baby, of her gently placing that baby in my arms, of my cradling the fragile bundle of love that was of our creation. It was all fool's gold of course, but Tom had unknowingly forced these dreams out into the open. It was clear that my love for her would not die and that suppressing this love would only lead to suffering – Margaret's parting wish was not that I should suffer.

Yes, I will go to Helstone. It was the only way I could immerse myself in her beautiful spirit, and only in her spirit will I ever find the strength to rebuild my shattered life.

And look to the future.


	3. Chapter 3

In the Company of Children

By Winam

Chapter 3

"Margaret? Are you ready?"

Edith's voice rang clearly through the house as Dixon put the finishing touches to my hair.

"A few moments more, Edith." I replied.

"Now, Miss Margaret, you'd better have this about yer." said Dixon, covering my shoulders with a fine woollen shawl. "It may look fine from 'ere but you can never be sure." She shook her head at the brown hat I placed upon my head, my constant companion since I left Helstone all those months ago. "That hat of yours needs replacing, Miss. Looks as if it's been through the wars."

I smiled. "I am only going for a walk in the park, Dixon, not off to Buckingham Palace to see the Queen."

For to the park we were to go. It had become the routine of recent weeks to stroll for an hour after breakfast and take advantage of every clear day offered by Mother Nature. They had become the highlight of my day, my one opportunity to escape the rarefied atmosphere of the house and surround myself with something that remotely resembled the green fields of Helstone.

After reassuring Dixon that there was little chance I would meet the Queen at the park, I joined Edith, Sholto, and Hanley at the door. Sholto was wrapped under three layers of garments, in my opinion ridiculous for such a mild day. Sholto evidently thought so too, for he managed to discard two of the three layers before we had walked fifty yards, and poor Hanley was inevitably left holding the offending garments for the remainder of the outing.

As an errant gust forced me to clutch my hat, Edith remarked, "I do not think we will stay above an hour in this wind, Margaret. Branson spent ever so long on my hair this morning that I dare not ruin her handiwork."

"We will see." I replied, amused at Edith's vanity, knowing that I would try to stretch that hour into two if I could help it. These walks were often my only chance to talk to Edith for any length of time. Much of her day was occupied by calls on her numerous friends, visits to the more fashionable shops of London or simply doting on her husband and son. If it weren't for our walks we would rarely spend more than the bookends of the day in each other's company, a pitiable amount for two cousins who were once inseparable. Those days in the nursery were long gone, but I missed the effortless conversations we had about everything and nothing. Now we had grown too far apart for that intimacy to be renewed, yet I longed for such a friendship.

My last cherished friend was not Edith but Bessy Higgins. Sweet Bess, she was a good friend to me at a time when I felt adrift in the wide open sea of Milton. The differences that seemed insurmountable in most of my northern interactions simply did not apply to us. We rapidly came to an understanding and soon conversed as if we had known each other all our lives. But our friendship was not cherished for merely good company; it was cherished for the support we gave each other through times of great distress.

It supported me through the trials of caring for my ailing mother and comforting my fragile father in an alien place. It supported Bessy through a strike that ruined many a family and strengthened her through much physical and mental anguish. Those short months of friendship had bound us closely together and for the first time the injustice of life became plain to me, distilled as it was in a friend who suffered so much so young. Why did Bessy have to suffer while the masters responsible for her condition remained blameless? Why did no one attempt to alleviate the poverty that had so desperately driven its victims to strike? Why couldn't the union and masters come to a timely resolution when a stalemate equalled starvation and death?

Then came the riot at Marlborough Mills. My recollection of the event was blurred by the shock of the blow I had received, but the frenzy and violent desperation brought about by the strike remained clear. Later that day, I had comforted Bess who was frightened, tearful and critically ill. As her demise was undoubtedly hastened by the strike, I seethed at the masters and their lack of compassion.

My emotions came to a head the day after the riot. When Mr. Thornton called, I knew that I had to impress upon him the plight of the strikers. I had to convince him not to persecute the rioters as it would only prolong the bitterness and suffering of all involved. But he remained staunchly unmoved. Instead of his sympathy, I received what I thought to be his pity in a stumbling declaration of love. My response was to unleash my anger, untempered by decorum or reason. I lashed accusations that still haunt me to this day, but at the time aimed to revenge the suffering he inflicted on those I cared for. I have long realised how wrong I was, and have paid for my ill-judgement by falling in love with the very man I vowed to hate.

Our little party strolled to the end of Harley Street and across into the park, taking care to avoid the cabs, carts and carriages that rattled along the cobblestones. We walked to our usual place, a seat by the pond at the park's centre. On the way, Sholto escaped Hanley's grasp and dashed down the path to send the pigeons a fluttering. Our seat was vacant and Edith and I settled down upon it. We watched Sholto dart about the grass, arms widespread in imitation of the very birds he startled. Hanley had brought a stale loaf of bread to feed the ducks with, but Sholto had other ideas when he saw the loaf.

He came to the bench, took my hand, and in his sweetest voice asked, "Will Aunt Margaret feed the ducks with me?"

I consented and took the loaf from Hanley. The ducks had swum to the other side of the pond, fearful of little Sholto I suspected, so he clasped my hand and dragged me there, his stubby legs moving at an unusually fast pace. A girl with auburn curls, a little older than Sholto, stood at the shore nearest to the ducks.

"Hello, I am Daisy." she greeted us happily. "Have you come to talk to the ducks too?"

"Pleased to meet you, Daisy. I am Miss Hale and this," indicating to the boy who had suddenly disappeared behind my petticoats, "is Sholto."

I reached around to ruffle Sholto's head. "Come and say hello to Daisy." I encouraged, but he shook his head vehemently. "He is not usually so shy." I apologised. "We have come to feed the ducks. Would you like to join us?"

Daisy's face lit up like roman candles, her eyes bursting with joy. "Yes, please! I've never fed the ducks before. My nurse says they bite."

"They might if you feed them from your hand, but if you drop the bread on the ground or in the water, they can eat it just as well."

Daisy's face crumpled in confusion. "Why do they eat from the ground when it's dirty?"

"Ducks do not fall ill as easily as people." I explained. "If we eat dirty things we get a big stomach ache but ducks do not."

"I want to be a duck." said Sholto, who had gained enough courage to appear from his hiding place.

"Me too." Daisy agreed. "I would like to swim and eat off the ground."

I laughed heartily. "Well, I dare say both your mothers will have something to say about that. But come, let us see how hungry they are today."

Handing each child a small chunk of the loaf, I showed them how to tear it into small pieces. "Ducks have smaller mouths than us and we do not want them to choke."

They both assented and then tore at their loaves in earnest. I did not see the approach of another, so occupied was I with the children.

"There you are Daisy! Nurse Hayes and I were sure we had lost you!"

The lady speaking was a little older than me and resembled Daisy in face – her eyes the same sparkling blue – however her hair was a golden brown compared to her daughter's auburn. She dressed well but not too finely, and her head was covered by a lace kerchief tied under her chin.

"I was not lost. I was only with the ducks." Daisy explained brightly.

The woman bent down until she was level with her daughter. "Daisy, Mamma was worried about you." she said in seriousness. "If you cannot see us, we cannot see you or help you, and Mamma will be very sad if you are hurt." She took up her daughter's hands and softly said, "Please, promise me that you will not disappear again."

"Yes, Mamma." replied an apologetic Daisy, who kissed her cheek.

The lady stood and smiled contentedly. "Thank you for looking out for my daughter, ma'am. She can be so flighty that I do not know where she is from one minute to the next."

"Think nothing of it. Daisy has behaved perfectly well with us."

"I'm glad to hear it." she replied. "Oh, I have not yet introduced myself. My name is Sophie Crawford."

"Margaret Hale. And that is Sholto."

"Very pleased to meet you both."

My ears had pricked at the sound of her Northern accent, but I could not attend further as the children demanded what to do next. "Now, we will throw the pieces at the ducks."

"But they are over there!" Sholto pointed, "And I can't swim."

"Then we will have to show them that the food is here."

"How?" they asked.

"Let me show you."

I tore a piece from my loaf, tossed it into the water, and quickly followed it with more pieces. It soon attracted the attention of one, two, and then three ducks.

"They're coming, they're coming!" Daisy and Sholto cried.

"Throw your pieces in then. One-by-one, mind. I have a little more bread when you are finished. What do you say?"

"Thank you!" they chimed.

I returned to Mrs. Crawford, who had been watching attentively.

"You like children, Miss Hale?" she inquired.

"Very much, I confess. I love Sholto dearly. His mother is my cousin and sits over there." I pointed to Edith, who was talking to Lady and Miss Fairfax, friends of my aunt. "Pardon my asking, Mrs. Crawford, but are you originally from the North?"

"Ah, my accent always gives me away, even after five years in London." she mused. "Yes, I grew up in the North, in Milton!"

"Milton? But I was lately there! My family lived in Milton for almost two years and I've only recently returned to London."

"Indeed? How extraordinary! In all my time here I've never met a lady who had come within a hundred miles of the place, let alone lived there. Tell me, Miss Hale, how did you come to live in Milton? Is your father in trade?"

I paused, debating how much to tell her, a stranger. "No, my father was a teacher." I cautiously answered, "It's a rather complicated story. My family were originally from Hampshire but circumstances required my father to seek a new situation. A friend of his had connections in Milton and helped him obtain a position as a tutor and lecturer of philosophy and classics."

"In that case, you may not be acquainted with my relations there, the Thorntons."

I started at the mention of the name. It was a moment before I could gather my wits and say, "I do know of a family by the name of Thornton. Do you mean the Thorntons of Marlborough Mills?"

"The very same! Mrs. Thornton is my aunt, and John and Fanny my cousins."

Before I could digest this intriguing fact, Sholto interrupted us. "Aunt Margaret, we'd like more bread, please." I dispensed the remaining bread quickly, eager to continue the tête-à-tête.

"My family were very well acquainted with your relations, Mrs. Crawford. Your aunt and Miss Thornton visited us several times, and one of my father's first pupils was Mr. Thornton himself."

I recalled our second meeting. After our violent introduction at the mill, his amused expression in Father's study had triggered rash judgements and even rasher words. I had thought him an ogre, heartless and cold. How different was my opinion now!

"The Thorntons are a good family." I said thoughtfully, thinking of all they had done – all _he_ had done.

"The very best. John in particular, has a good heart."

John. To hear his name so familiarly mentioned reminded me that behind the master was an ordinary man, with family who thought and cared for him even from a distance of 300 miles.

"Yes, I own that Mr. Thornton does have a good heart. He and Mrs. Thornton did much for my family when we were in Milton. He befriended us when we did not know a soul, and he and my father became firm friends."

"I am pleased to hear that, and even more pleased to hear that John had resumed his studies. He was always the clever one, but circumstances meant that he never completed his education as a boy. He read ever so many books and had the most vivid imagination! I remember raiding the linen cupboard as a child at John's insistence, so we could wrap the sheets around each other and pretend to be Egyptian mummies!"

I chuckled at the thought of a young Mr. Thornton at play. "I can imagine how Mrs. Thornton must have reacted to that."

"Oh, she was not pleased, and neither was my mother." amused Mrs. Crawford and sighed. "John had the sweetest disposition, still has, although there are few who see that side of him now. I -"

"We've finished!" cried our disruptive charges.

"I am sorry Miss Hale, but Daisy and I must return home for luncheon. I've so enjoyed meeting you. I… I wonder if you would like to take tea with us? Tomorrow perhaps if you are unengaged? We can continue our conversation. It has been such a pleasant surprise to meet someone from the North, especially one who is a friend of the family."

I did not hesitate. "I've also enjoyed our meeting, Mrs. Crawford, and would be pleased to come to tea."

She handed me her card, and after agreeing on the time of the visit we shook hands heartily in the Milton way. Daisy, following her mother's example, came forward and shook first my hand and then Sholto's, to his great astonishment.

"Bye, bye Daisy." he called out as mother and daughter strode away, grinning widely from the glee of the morning. I too found myself cheered by the prospect of a new acquaintance, and for the first time in weeks looked forward to the morrow.


	4. Chapter 4

In the Company of Children

By Winam

Chapter 4

"Oh, Mother! What a grey day it is! I am so glad to be wearing these colours. Fairly brightens up the room…"

Fanny's voice reverberated through the house, signalling the beginning of her weekly visit. I was surprised that she came so often since her marriage to Watson five months ago. I thought that she would have severed her family ties once caught up in her new life, but despite the chaos of setting up house and adapting to new routines Fanny never failed to visit Marlborough Mills every week. Although Mother did not show it outwardly, I saw that she was pleased with her daughter, pleased that she had not forgotten her family. I even noticed a softening in her manner towards Fanny on these visits, as if in her absence she had finally come to appreciate her daughter's qualities. It was a good thing that Fanny brought joy to the house because there was little joy to be gotten elsewhere.

Yesterday was the final day of operations at Marlborough Mills. I had steeled myself for a tough day – an emotional day – but strangely I felt bereft of all feeling. I did not feel sorrow when the machines were shut down for the last time, seeing the bales all carted away did not fill me with regret, nor did I grieve when I helped Williams pay out and thank the workers individually. The only time I felt any emotion was when I thought of Margaret.

After seeing the workers exit the front gate I returned to the empty carding room. It was there that I first caught sight of her beautiful face, sickened by the sight of me, a master, striking an employee with such violence. As I relived the scene with absolute clarity a familiar feeling of self-disgust came over me – disgust at my temper, at my lack of restraint, at my coarseness. Was it any wonder that she never overcame her first impression of me as an overbearing, brutal master?

Only Higgins had saved me from complete despair. He revealed that the man at the station, the object of my jealousy, had been her brother! Her brother, who was in exile and came back to England to be at his mother's deathbed! It was blessed relief to know that her intentions, however dubious at the time, were all honourable. The secrecy, the lie, the late night farewell – it was all for her beloved brother! The news brought a brief reprieve from my depressed state, but inevitably the dark thoughts returned.

Oh, Margaret! What did I do? I, who knew what it was to be lonely, sad and ashamed, should have comforted you, yet I had scorned you and then cowardly stayed away. I, whose work was to maintain impartiality, had incriminated you without consulting the evidence. Though my heart knew you to be incapable of dishonour, I had let jealousy blind me to your goodness. I could see now that you were entirely blameless, that you were only protecting your brother from persecution, but instead of lightening your load I had burdened you with my unfounded accusations. Foolish, stupid man! How could you say such things to the woman you loved?

This morning I awoke to a deafening silence. My first action had been to go to the window and gaze through the dawn into the yard. A week ago there would have been activity even at this early hour, but today it was quiet and still. This image more than any other enforced the reality that I was no longer master, that all I had worked for had come to nought.

I did not take breakfast but sat in my room, reading Mr. Hale's Plato. Good, kind Mr. Hale, what calm words would he have imparted? I tried to recall our wondrous discussions. History showed that life was cyclical, he once said, and every fall would soon be accompanied by a rise. Could I climb out of my pit of despair and start again? I felt so weary, so old. Recovery was impossible without the vigour of youth, but I did not believe that I could ever rouse such vigour again.

Fanny's arrival had broken the peace of the morning. As much as I loved my sister, this morning her ceaseless chatter was beyond my endurance. I tensed when I heard her exclaim, "Where is that stuck-in-the-mud brother of mine?"

The last thing I wanted was for Fanny to search for me, so as soon as I heard her settle into a monologue I stole down the servant's staircase to the back entrance and made my escape.

I walked with my eyes cast downwards, heedless of direction. But my subconscious certainly had a destination in mind, as when I looked up I found myself two miles away in Crampton. Standing in front of the terrace that had been the Hales' former home, I recalled that my last visit had been to collect the keys from Dixon. I had assisted her in finding a new tenant – a childless couple from Scotland – as well as providing her with help to pack and disperse the house's contents.

After we saw away the last of the trunks Dixon thanked me sincerely for my help. I acknowledged her gratitude but did not immediately take leave. She was my last link to the Hales and her going meant the end of their presence in my life. We stood in awkward silence, waiting for her cab to the station. When I thought of what the Hales meant to me, how they had changed my life, it was I who was filled with gratitude. So before Dixon climbed into the cab I found myself shaking her hand and thanking her, the servant who had faithfully stood by the family. As the cab departed I thought that I would never hear the name 'Hale' mentioned again. But I was mistaken.

Mr. Bell had visited me a few months later to renew the tenancy agreement. I thought that gaining my signature had been the sole purpose of our meeting – until I saw the name on the contract. Then he divulged that he was leaving the country and that he had left his fortune to his god-daughter – Margaret! Her circumstances had certainly improved since she left Milton, and I was glad for her, glad that she was well provided for. She of all people deserved to be comfortable and independent, and she would undoubtedly put the money to good use. But the news also added to my already considerable agony. Once I had dreamed of marrying my beautiful Margaret, dreamed of a lifetime of happiness together. I never dreamed that she would be one day be my landlord, a mere name on a contract, nor that she would live hundreds of miles away, would only ever think of me with disdain, and would never be seen again.

I walked away from the terraces of Crampton and up the verdant hill that rose above Milton. The graveyard stood guard on the hilltop, reminding the vigorous town of its mortality. Devoid of all activity, it was somewhere I often went to think. Passing the elegant headstones of the prosperous and the wooden crosses of the poor, I came to my father's grave. I traced the weathered stone, studying the inscription that read, "Charity beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things."

For years I found it difficult to comprehend why Mother still mourned, why she was still faithful to the man who had abandoned her. Having never loved before, I did not know about the nature of love until Margaret taught me its harsh lessons. She taught that love did not conform to any logic, could not be controlled by will. She taught of love's ability to burrow into the soul and brand it forever. That love was the source of the greatest pain as well as the greatest pleasure. That love could never be undone or forgotten. With these experiences ingrained in my heart, I finally understood my mother's love for my father. She could not forget him any more than I could forget Margaret. Hers was love that had endured the fires of hell and her faithfulness will transcend life itself.

I sat on the grass beside the grave, taking little notice of the damp that soaked through my trousers. Unshaven and dishevelled, anyone passing by would have taken me for a tramp. But I did not care. I hugged my knees to my chest and contemplated Milton as it billowed before me in a maze of steep rooftops and smoking chimneys. Countless times had I wandered here, sometimes in search of solace, but more often to unburden the bitterness that I scrupulously kept from my mother – and saved for my father.

As a boy, I rebuked him for leaving our family deep in debt, friendless, and almost crushed. I abused him for every ounce of gossip that my mother had endured, for every doubter who did not believe that such a debt could be repaid, for every person who thought that a poor, uneducated lad could never be a success. As a man I blamed him for my roughness, my lack of education, and my social ineptness. For the loneliness that would not abate, for my inability to gain my only love, and for failing to live up to my mother's expectations of me.

It began to rain but I made no attempt to seek shelter. Instead, I looked up and met the icy drops, felt it slide over my face and soak into my clothes. Although I clenched my fists in an effort to reign in the tears, I could not stop them from falling.

How you must laugh at me, Father! I had worked hard for years to prove to everyone that I was not like you and would never be, but now with my business failed, my love lost, and my spirit broken, I could not deny that I was just like you – a flawed and weak man who had let his family down, who had destroyed his life's work through his own incompetence.

I held my knees to my chin to protect myself from the biting wind and restrain the shivers that wracked my body. Despite being thoroughly chilled, I could not go home yet. I was not ready to face my mother's discerning eyes, to see the anxiety and concern that I had caused and was unable to relieve. Was this how my father felt when he realised that he had lost everything, that his debts would take years to pay, that he had ruined not only himself but his family? Was this crippling shame why he could not face his wife, why he instead chose…? It did not excuse him of course, but if it was a fraction of the pain I felt then I understood why he made the choices he did.

My father. I once thought him god-like, but then I was never close enough to see his imperfections. Rarely at home, he showed his affection through gifts – a beautifully bound picture book from one trip, a globe from another – but he never stayed to read with me, or told me of those places on the far side of the world. His visits to the nursery were always brief no matter how hard I tried to detain him, and then they were no more. I thought all fathers were distant with their children, that affection was the sole domain of a mother. That was until I met Mr. Hale.

Mr. Hale was the antithesis of my father, a man who was generous with his time and his affections. He was attentive to his wife and daughter, never straying far from home. Although busy with his students and lectures he seemed to always set aside time for his family – to listen, to converse, to be husband and father to them. A gentle and affectionate man, he was never abrupt or distant, and his love exceeded the mere gift-giving that my father's had been reduced to.

Mr. Hale's generosity extended to everyone, regardless of rank or wealth. He had been patient with me, a former draper's assistant whose schooling did not exceed beyond the elementary. I had come to learn from him, to rediscover the world I had left as a boy, but surprisingly Mr. Hale was eager to learn from me as I from him. What began as lessons in Greek classics soon extended to eager debates on history, business and industry, relations between masters and workers, and on the meaning of life itself. It was an honest exchange of ideas that enriched both of our lives, expanding my horizons far beyond cotton and trade. I felt fortunate to have the friendship of this brave, intelligent and sensitive man, this man who had stood up for his beliefs, who had the courage to start his life afresh in an unfamiliar place, who had reared such a wonderful daughter as Margaret. And who I respected more than any other.

I missed my friend. I missed our conversations and his gentle ways. He was the one person, apart from Mother, that I could freely talk to and trusted implicitly, and I felt that it was the same for him. In hindsight, we must have both sensed a longing in each other – I for a father and he for a son – and for a time we were able to be what the other needed.

If only I had not let him down. After his wife's death, I should have continued to come to him, regardless of the state of my business affairs or my feelings for his daughter. I should have taken more care of him, fragile as he must have been after such a loss. If I had not been so negligent then perhaps he would have not, as Higgins described, died of a broken heart? And Margaret would still have a father and I a cherished friend.

A gruff voice cut through my thoughts. "You might turn into one o' these stones if you sit there any longer."

I glanced up see a familiar face. "Higgins."

"Or catch somethin' frightful, 'specially on a wild day such as this."

I turned away and sighed, "I'm sure no one would be concerned."

He perched on a neighbouring headstone, eyeing my forlorn form. "What are you doing 'ere?" he asked brusquely.

"Visiting… Thinking."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Higgins glance at my father's headstone, saw his shoulders tighten in recognition.

"You?" I questioned.

"Seeing my Bess and her mother."

We did not speak for a long while, each remembering those passed away.

Then Higgins questioned, "Don't you ever wonder why they're in their graves and we're left behind? What gives us the right to be 'ere?"

I shook my head. Why were we the lucky ones? Why did Higgins survive his wife and daughter? Why did Margaret have to lose her mother and father so early in life? Was there any logic that governed life? All I could discern was that life was a game of chance that you were forced to play, and to refuse was fatal.

"Some people choose to go." I replied, thinking of John Boucher and my father.

"Aye, and that I'll never understand. Mr. Hale told me once that things 'appen for a reason, and I believe him. Who would ha' thought that I'd be carin' for six children? But I've no regrets – in a lot o' ways those children were a real blessin'."

Everything happened for a reason. If my father had been alive, would I ever have been a master? A magistrate? Would I ever have met people such as Mr. Hale or Higgins? Would I ever have met Margaret?

"Yes," I murmured. "For a reason."

In the distance I heard the church bells toll four o'clock. Higgins rose abruptly at the sound. "I'd better be gettin' back 'ome. Dinner'll be on the table and I wager that my Mary prepared somethin' good. Come," he beckoned. "Come and take dinner with us."

I scrutinised his face, and was gladdened by his sincere invitation. "I won't say no to Mary's cooking. I am partial to her stew as you know."

Higgins chuckled. "That I do know."

Slowly, I lifted my frozen body off the ground and took a final glance at my father's headstone. "Charity hopeth all things, endureth all things."

I may be like my father, but I do have one thing that he did not – hope. Hope will sustain me through the trials of the present and the uncertainty of the future. It may only be a tiny spark, but as long as it was alive in people such as Mother and Higgins I will not surrender.

Higgins walked a little ways down the hill and turned to wait for me.

Goodbye Father, rest in peace.

"Come along now or I won't vouch for us gettin' our share!" called Higgins.

I laughed, and without a backward glance, strode down to join him.


	5. Chapter 5

In the Company of Children

By Winam

Chapter 5

Sunlight transfigured the curtains and roused me from an uneasy dream. Mr. Thornton had appeared to me wearing a delicious smile, his eyes deciphering my every thought. My heartbeat quickened as he implored me repeatedly to come to him, to love him. But I refused. With each refusal he grew younger and younger, until he was but a small boy. Then his alluring expression changed into one of great sorrow as his bright blue eyes overflowed with tears. And when I tried to embrace and console him, he vanished.

I awoke with tears in my eyes, guilt-riddened at having caused my beloved such pain, aching to protect him from further affliction. To dismiss the image of his anguished face, I thought of the afternoon's visit and how I had been looking forward to it.

I liked Mrs. Crawford. Even from our brief conversation in the park I saw that she had no airs about her and was matter-of-fact – a true Northerner. She had a welcoming manner that I could not help but like and being Mr. Thornton's relation of course added to her appeal. The image she conjured of two young children wrapped in sheets at play warmed me though it was saddening that there was hardly a trace of the carefree boy left in the stern man he had become.

This morning Henry came to discuss the arrangements for Frederick's trust. My dear brother, we were as close as two siblings could be. My earliest memory of him was at four years old when he helped me up his favourite oak, much to the horror of my mother. Despite a five-year age difference we were the closest of confidantes, so when Fred announced that he was to join the Navy I felt abandoned. At fourteen, I could not quite understand why he wanted to leave. I remembered sitting by his side under the oak tree, listening to his excited chatter as he dreamed of future adventures on the high seas. But despite all his reassurances I was certain that I would forever lose my brother and dearest friend. Sadly, I was right.

When Mother and Father heard of the mutiny they were devastated. It seemed that everyone in the county knew who Frederick Hale was and what he did. I was in London at the time and so was sheltered from the slander that my parents endured daily from their neighbours and the harassing letters sent by the Navy demanding his whereabouts. Mamma became fretful and ever anxious; Papa withdrew more into his thoughts. Having already been parted from him by my stays in London I had grown used to his absence, but with the possibility of its permanence the parsonage seemed emptier and colder. When the first of the mutineers were captured and hanged that possibility became a reality.

With Mamma on the brink of death and fearing for Frederick's life, I was joyous when I opened the front door that awful night. It took me a moment to recognise Fred. His appearance remained boyish, but the way he carried himself showed that he was a man of the world not a boy from the village. He in turn was surprised to find his little sister all grown up, but despite our lack of communication in the intervening years we were able to resume our easy friendship. We talked deep into the night about our lives. He told me of his life in Spain, so different from the one he left in England. He had found contentment in a new occupation as a merchant and a worthy woman to love in Dolores. Though he said that a court-martial was a risk he was willing to take to see his beloved mother, I was conscious of how big a sacrifice it was on his part, and if it had not been for Mr. Thornton's intervention two families might have mourned the loss of their son.

Henry came to breakfast full of good news, though little of it was good to my ears. "I'm afraid you will soon be looking for a new tenant, Margaret." he said rather nonchalantly.

A new tenant? Was Marlborough Mills to close?

My mind spiralled until I was unable to respond to Henry's remark. Henry did not seem to notice my absence of mind, proud as he was of the enormous dividends I had accrued from the successful speculation, but my own fortune was the least of my concerns.

I was stunned that Mr. Bell had bestowed his riches on me, a simple country girl. I had not realised the extent of his wealth until the contracts and bank statements were presented to me. Frightened of the responsibility that such wealth entailed, I turned to the only knowledgeable person I knew – Henry. He assured me that everything could be managed and offered to tend to my business affairs, but I did not want to remain ignorant. Henry was a little reluctant at first but I insisted on learning so I could put the sum to good use – a trust for Fred and a fund to put Nicholas's children through school being our first ventures. It would ease the guilt I felt when others had worked hard all their lives for a mere fraction of what I possessed. Now that I had heard of Mr. Thornton's dire situation, my own fortune seemed even more unpardonable.

When the first rumours of the mill's downturn emerged months ago Father had already been concerned that Mr. Thornton's spirit would not survive another fall. I hardly thought back then that he could ever be brought down, but as time passed and the rumours grew widespread, I saw that Mr. Thornton was not as invulnerable as I thought. Nicholas spoke often of how hard his master worked; putting in such long hours that it sometimes appeared that he never went to bed. Once I had glimpsed him in the street and my heart twinged when I noticed how tired he looked, gaze fixed downwards and feet dragging.

That final day in Milton, when I came to the mill house to say farewell, was the first time I had seen Mr. Thornton in several weeks. I was struck by the weariness etched on his face – his vitality seemed to have been quenched by his business troubles and then compounded by the loss of my father, his dear friend. Though I was numbed by grief, the quiet tenderness at which he accepted my father's Plato could not fail to move me. I saw my own grief echoed in his eyes, eyes that pleaded me to ease his sorrow and worries, to stay. But I could only impart inadequate well wishes though I had wished to do so much more. I longed to place a hand on his stubbled cheek, to lock my gaze to his and speak words of real comfort, to wrap my arms about his neck as on the day of the riot and embrace his burdens. If only I had been strong enough to do so.

What if I had accepted his proposal? He would not have been so weary and I would not have had to grieve alone. We would have been together and would have known what it was to truly love and be loved. Father would have been happy for us, I was sure. Perhaps then the heartbreak he suffered at Mamma's passing would have been lessened by the support of his dear friend and daughter? And perhaps he might have lived?

Fortunately, Henry returned to his chambers after our meeting – all arrangements for Frederick's trust finalised – and I was able to keep to my room for the remainder of the morning. At luncheon, both Aunt Shaw and Edith noticed my lack of appetite and advised me to cancel my afternoon engagements, but I managed to convince them otherwise. I could ill afford to miss this visit when Mrs. Crawford was perhaps the only person in London who knew the truth.

Was my dream a premonition? Was Marlborough Mills to close? Where would Mr. Thornton go? What would happen to his workers?

I left the house in confusion and walked across the park unaware of the glorious day that nature had endowed. The Crawford's lived on the other side of the park in Armitage Square. Their house stood in a secluded corner and was of more modest proportions compared to the establishments of Harley Street. On ringing the bell I was greeted by the housekeeper who took my hat and gloves and showed me into a drawing room that reminded me of our house in Milton – homely, comfortable and laden with feminine touches. A fine lace cloth covered a side table and Delft blue vase full of summer roses sat upon it. I admired the room, so different from the one that I had lately left, where sophistication overrode comfort.

After five minutes the housekeeper returned. "Sorry to keep you waiting, miss. Mrs. Crawford wondered if she could meet you in the nursery."

"But of course." I replied and was led to a room at the back of the house where Mrs. Crawford awaited. Dressed less formally in a simple printed gown, she shook my hand warmly.

"Miss Hale, thank you for coming. Please be seated. Daisy is with her governess at present and I am tending Francis this morning as the nursemaid is ill."

"Oh, I hope that I am not inconveniencing you."

"Nonsense! As long as you don't mind taking tea here rather than in the drawing room."

"No, do not worry on my part. As I told you yesterday, I like children very much."

I saw a baby sleeping in a cot on the other side of the room. "Is that Francis?"

"Yes – he is three months old."

We came to the cot and glanced at his serene form. "He has a thick head of hair already," I observed, "Just like yours I see. He sleeps so peacefully."

Mrs. Crawford giggled. "He may be peaceful now but if you were here half an hour ago you would not have thought so. Now, would you like a cup of tea?"

"Certainly."

We sat at a corner table where the tea things had been set. Mrs. Crawford poured me a cup and then sat down with a sigh. "I am glad that he is asleep now. It took him ever so long this afternoon and if he does not sleep he will be very irritable tonight."

She took up her cup before saying, "Miss Hale, it was so fortuitous to meet you yesterday, and you being friends of my aunt and cousins too."

I laughed. "Yes, it was a remarkable coincidence. I have not met anyone from the North since I returned to London several months ago – you're the very first!"

"You are living with your parents I assume."

"No," I said softly, "I no longer have any parents living, Mrs. Crawford. My mother died last year in Milton and my father passed away shortly after."

"Oh my dear, I am so sorry!"

"Please, don't be. They are at peace and I am thankful. I now live in my aunt's house on the other side of the park in Harley Street."

"With your cousin and Sholto too?"

"Yes, and her husband. I grew up in that house but strangely I have not been able to feel completely at home there since my return from Milton." I thought of the friends left behind. "I miss Milton."

"I miss it too." Mrs. Crawford empathised, "London seems like another planet with its aristocratic ways."

I smiled. "Those were my exact words when we first arrived in Milton and saw the smoke! But now it is the only place I could consider home."

"Indeed? I do not think one in one hundred London ladies could confess to liking Milton." my companion joked.

"Oh, but I do! I learned so much there and lived such a full life. Now I cannot look at the South through anything but Northern eyes."

I took a sip of my tea and then asked, "How did you come to live here?"

"My husband, of course. Nathaniel was raised in London and came to the North to trade with the cotton mills. He had many business dealings with my father, who owned Green's."

"The drapers on Manchester Lane?"

"Yes, the very one. My father introduced me to Nathaniel and since he had no relations in Milton he soon became part of the family. We were acquainted and before I knew it we were married. Our first years together were spent in Milton but his company urged him to return to London, and so here we are five years later."

"I can imagine that you must have found it hard to settle here at first."

"Yes, it was difficult. I was with child at the time – carrying Daisy in fact – and I felt the absence of my family very keenly. Thank heavens my husband's family were supportive! His mother stayed with me for some weeks and helped me employ a nursemaid. But I was most grateful to John, who visited though he had just come in possession of Marlborough Mills. He brought a little bit of the North at a time when I felt most homesick."

"Was your husband very well acquainted with Mr. Thornton?"

"Yes, very much so. They had much in common together and got on famously. Nathaniel was a kind of older brother to him – he was the one who found John a position in Wainwright's mill. It was only book-keeping at first but John had such a good head for business that Mr. Wainwright took him on as his protégé of sorts. John eventually managed the mill for him and when Marlborough Mills became available he took over its lease."

She paused thoughtfully. "Pardon me for all this talk about my cousin but I am so proud of him."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I would also be proud to know someone who had so distinguished himself."

"He is an important man now, and a very busy one. When my husband and I last visited Marlborough Mills we scarcely saw him except at supper. Sometimes I wonder where he finds such energy. But he corresponds regularly and visits us when he is in town. The last time he came was… yes, last autumn, for the Great Exhibition with Fanny and her friend whose name I cannot quite recall."

"I was there with my cousin's family. It was glorious to be able to see exhibits from all over the Empire."

"Yes, it was truly a sight to behold. Did you see John? His looms were being exhibited."

I recalled his eloquent manner of speaking of masters and workers in front of a captive audience, and blushed at his hard words to me afterwards, words that were of my own making. "Yes, we met briefly… And have you heard from Mr. Thornton recently?"

"Yes, we received a letter from him yesterday, in fact."

I put down my cup. How could I breach the subject? "I, I have heard that Marlborough Mills is in some difficulty."

Mrs. Crawford exhaled deeply. "It has been a most awful business for John. That strike last year started it all, you know – it crippled all the mills. Things have gotten so bad that Nathaniel says many of the masters have taken to speculating at great risk to keep their heads above water."

I remembered the conversation I had with Fanny Thornton all those months ago. "I know that Mr. Thornton would not gamble away his livelihood and those of his workers in such a way, especially after what happened to his father."

"So you know about my uncle? John is nothing like him and does not take his responsibilities lightly, but without funds he cannot run the mill. In fact, his letter yesterday said that things had really come to a head and that he was terminating operations this very week."

My heart sank. So it was true!

Mrs. Crawford glanced at me. "Miss Hale, are you well? You are rather pale."

I dismissed her concern – I could only think of Mr. Thornton. "Could any one not help him? If it is a matter of finance, perhaps someone may be able to lend him the amount he needs?"

"My husband has some investments but not nearly enough to clear the debts and reopen the mill. He needs at least ₤10,000, and where is such a sum to be found? He will have to sub-let the sheds, the machinery, the house – everything."

₤10,000! But I have that sum – much more in fact!

"I am so worried for him and my aunt, Miss Hale. I wish that I could go back to Milton but I have Francis and Daisy to think of."

"Perhaps…?" Perhaps _I_ may be able to help him? "He may have more friends than he thinks, Mrs. Crawford."

"That may be Miss Hale, but in reality no one wants to board a sinking ship."

A cry interrupted us – Francis had awakened. Mrs. Crawford put down her cup and picked him up, rocking him until he quietened once more. I admired his beaming smile as Mrs. Crawford showered him with kisses. When she noticed my rapt expression she asked, "Would you like to hold him, Miss Hale?"

"Are you certain? He seems very comfortable with you right now."

"I am very sure. He does not mind being held by people – I suspect he loves the attention."

"Thank you." I replied. She gently placed the wriggling bundle in my arms. I gazed at his small button nose, cherubic cheeks and brilliant blue eyes, and was lost.

"Hello Francis." I whispered, tickling his chin. He smiled and gurgled softly.

"He is very beautiful, Mrs. Crawford." I whispered in wonderment, "Indeed, he is lovely."

"One day you will also have children, Miss Hale."

Would I ever have children of my own? What would it be like to have a child? What would Mr. Thornton be like as a father?

Dismissing these disturbing thoughts, I replied, "Perhaps, but that may be a long way off since I have no husband and no prospect of one!"

She looked at me acutely. "I am sure that a lady like you will have little difficulty on that score."

I frowned, remembering the two painful proposals I had received. "To be sure! But I would never marry for anything but love."

Mrs. Crawford smiled. "Yes, I cannot imagine marrying without affection. A match cannot be regarded as equal without it."

"I am glad we think alike, Mrs. Crawford." I said in agreement. With my newfound fortune I no longer had to marry for money, but matrimony still seemed impossible when I was in love with a man who would never have me.

When Francis grew restless and whimpered, I handed him back to his mother. "I will leave you now, Mrs. Crawford, but thank you for receiving me."

"Please, call me Sophie. It may be a little forward of me but I will not stand on ceremony with someone I feel so intimately connected with already. It is strange but I feel that we've known each other longer than a day."

"And I too. You may call me Margaret. You must call very soon at Harley Street and bring Daisy with you. She and Sholto got on so well yesterday."

"Daisy would be delighted. I will send you a note."

I snuck back to Harley Street. Thankfully, both Edith and Aunt Shaw were out so I was spared their inquisition about my visit. Closing the door of my room, I laid on the bed, my mind and heart full of Mr. Thornton.

What agony must he be feeling! I turned my face into my pillow and wept as I envisaged the suffering that he had to once again endure. My heart went out to him, the strongest man I had ever known, the only man I had ever loved.

I could not let him lose all he had worked for – I had to help him. He had done so much for my family, for me – it was the least I could do to repay him. If it had not been for his assistance Frederick might have been in gaol, awaiting trial and a possible death sentence. If it had not been for him our family would have been entirely friendless in a sea of Milton anonymity. If it had not been for him I would still be an impertinent young miss ignorant of the ways of society and industry. And I would not have known what it was to love.

At the very least, I wanted to help him reopen his mill. He may be too proud to accept charity, but if I was to support him as an investor instead of a benefactor then he may perhaps accept my help, particularly if it meant securing the welfare of his workers and their families. But I must talk it over with Henry, to see what was possible.

And I must return to Milton! This proposal was far too important to be delegated to a third party. I must go and meet him face-to-face, even if it was only to hear his rejection. I wanted him to know that he was not alone. I wanted him to know that regardless of what had passed between us I no longer held any animosity towards him, that my opinion of him had changed completely, that _I_ had changed.

If I could somehow tell him about Frederick, tell him how remorseful I was about my past impertinence, tell him about how wrong I had been about him, then perhaps he could find it in his heart to forgive me? If he could forgive me then perhaps it might be possible for us to be friends? If we were friends then perhaps a miracle will allow that friendship to lead to love? And then his delicious smile may be mine to behold.

A rumble of male voices floated through the corridor. Henry and Captain Lennox had returned! I dabbed my tears away – it was now or never.

With unsteady steps I caught Henry as he passed by my door, and stammered,

"Henry! I wonder… Would you help me? I've decided that I need to go to Milton and I'd like you to come with me."


	6. Chapter 6

In the Company of Children

By Winam

Chapter 6

We entered the cottage; warm and heavenly after my time in the rain. Higgins pushed the door shut and took off his well-worn coat.

"Let me take your coat Thornton. It'll dry quicker if I hang it by the fire."

I shrugged off the heavy garment and handed it to him before collapsing on to one of the chairs by the dining table. Higgins draped the coat over another chair close to the fireplace and rummaged through a nearby cupboard. He brought out a rough blanket and held it out to me.

"No, there's no need." I assured him but he did not retract his offer.

"You're still shivering – this will help."

I took it reluctantly and wrapped it around my shoulders. The wool felt prickly but warm, and soon the shivering eased. From my seat I was able to observe the joyful domesticity of the household. The simple cottage was not dissimilar to the place my family lived in after Father died – whitewashed walls, rough wooden floor, and simple furnishings – except that this cottage was bursting with life. Mary sat by the fire patiently stirring her pot, three fair-haired Boucher children giggled as they played with some marbles, while Tom taught one of his sisters the alphabet.

"'A' is for?"

"Egg?"

"No, silly! Apple – see the picture?"

After a few more minutes of play, Higgins went about helping the younger children wash their hands in preparation for dinner.

"Beatrice!" he called to the girl reading with Tom. "Your turn to set the table, lass."

The girl duly got up, took out the cutlery from the sideboard and proceeded to place it around the table. Soon the table was set and after the eldest children had washed, the meal was served. It was the ubiquitous stew, my favourite meal from the mill's dining room where Higgins' daughter Mary had cooked. No longer shivering, I took off the blanket as the children went to their seats. When Higgins settled in beside me everyone tucked into the hearty meal.

I inhaled the stew, so ravenous was I from having missed breakfast and luncheon. Mary, who had been quietly watching my progress, replenished my plate as soon as I polished it clean.

"Yo' look like you've not eaten for weeks, Thornton." jested Higgins, "Hadn't yo' mother fed yo' proper?"

"More like I've been missing meals." I replied wryly.

Higgins grinned. "You've nought to complain about. I 'eard yo' mother keeps a fair table."

"You keep a fair house yourself, Higgins." I observed, glancing at the contented little faces about the table. Their very presence in the house was a mark of Higgins' great generosity. How fortunate that he had also been as equally generous to me. "Thank you for inviting me here."

Higgins glanced up from his plate and studied me intently. "No Thornton, it's I who should thank yo'." he replied quietly. "You've done things that no other master would've done. Yo' gave me work an' if it weren't for tha' these children would ha' surely starved."

"You give me too much credit."

"Then yo' give too much credit to th' other masters. I know none o' them would've taken me on."

Swallowing a few more spoonfuls, I recalled the time when Higgins first approached me and how I had roughly turned him away. "I shouldn't have needed convincing in the first place and I admit I wouldn't have taken you on if it wasn't for-"

"Margaret?"

"Yes, Margaret." I sighed, "All credit must go to her."

My heart quickened as I thought of her loveliness – her soulful eyes that were at once haughty and vulnerable, her soft lips that bent into the gentlest of smiles, her graceful form that seemed to glide across the room – and my soul ached with an unquenchable longing.

"Aye, she was bonny lass, the likes of which I'd never seen. D'you know how I first met her? She got caught in th' rush up near Hamper's. Almost trampled she was. She looked so lost, so out o' place. I took 'er aside an' she don't know what to do. So she tried to pay me."

I smiled broadly. "Did she?"

"Aye, she did. I soon taught 'er that it weren't th' way we did things up 'ere." Higgins chuckled. "It was only after Bess introduced me to 'er that I realised th' lass I'd rescued an' th' woman who stood up to yo' when yo' dismissed Stephens were one an' th' same."

"You… you knew?"

He nodded. "My Bess told me – she was in th' sorting room tha' day. Wouldn't ha' believe tha' anyone could stand up to yo' if she hadn't seen it with 'er own eyes."

I thought bitterly of our brutal introduction. "We were at odds from the very beginning. I do not know why but we could never start a conversation without it ending in conflict, and yet I could see that she was not spiteful by nature."

"She always said what she thought, Thornton, just like us."

"I knew that well enough, and I valued her plain speaking. Though I may not have liked her questioning the principles I had long taken for granted, they were fair questions that grew out of compassion, questions that I would not have thought of asking if it weren't for her."

"She had compassion alright. There were many a time when I wondered what a lass like Margaret was doing in Princeton, but now I know tha' she couldn't ha' walked by an' done nought."

"No, she always did what she thought was right, even at her own risk. The riots at the mill – did you hear that a woman was struck down?"

"Aye, when th' knobsticks came to break down your door. I'm still furious at the rascals who knocked down your sister. What were they thinkin' to be throwin' stones at her?"

"That was not my sister, Higgins. She was safe upstairs with my mother."

"Then who was it?... Oh, not she."

"Yes, Margaret took the blow." Even now I could not forget my panic when she rushed out and threw her arms around me, my sickening fear when she was struck down, and my despondency when I carried her unconscious form to safety in my arms.

"Such a brave lass… How she must've cared for yo'."

I shook my head vehemently. "No. Margaret was adamant that she would have saved any man there – and now that I know what she's done for her brother, for her parents and for your family, Higgins, I believe her."

Laying down my spoon, I recalled, "I was taken by her from the beginning – not only by her beauty but also by her vitality and intelligence. Her courage during the riots, when she shielded me with her own body, made me realise how precious she was to me – how I had come to love her. I knew that an uneducated, former draper's assistant would never be fit for her but I had foolishly hoped that she could love me, as I could not help loving her after that day. And so I vowed to ask for her hand."

"And… she refused you?"

"I was never given the chance to propose! She told me directly that she did not and had never liked me. She was right to think so – my behaviour to her was unforgivable. Oh, why had I not able to control my temper? Why had I not been able to declare my feelings like a gentleman instead of a brute? Despite her indifference I loved her more than ever. But love did not improve my manners, it only made them worse. I was jealous of anyone linked with her, and had accused her of high impropriety when I saw her with a man at the station."

"Though the man was her brother? But yo' weren't to know about him, Thornton."

"I should have at least given her the benefit of the doubt! She had just lost her mother and I caused her pain when I should have given her comfort. I will never pardon myself for adding to her suffering."

I covered my face with my hands, trying to shield the emotion that threatened to engulf me once more.

"Thornton?" asked Higgins gently, "D'you honestly believe tha' you're so unworthy?"

Inhaling deeply, I replied, "I do, Higgins. Though I care for her more than any other woman in the world I have hurt her too much for her to ever forgive me. It is better for me to forget and move on, only that forgetting Margaret is impossible. Neither time nor distance will ever change that."

Higgins set down his spoon, went to the fireplace and stoked the glowing embers. After placing down the poker, he murmured, "My wife, Jenny – I didn't think I deserved 'er at first either. She was strong, funny and very fine. I was very 'appy when she accepted me though I too thought tha' she was far too good for me."

He smiled ruefully and glanced at his daughter on the other side of the table. "We ha' four good years together, Jenny an' I – only four! She was so weak after she gave birth to little Mary. I gave up my job up at Slickson's to take care o' 'er, but it was all for nought. She didn't last a month after Mary were born."

I sensed a mountain of grief behind his words, a greater grief than mine. My loss could not compare to losing a wife, mother and soul mate. How did Higgins ever manage to carry on? "Your girls, you could not have taken care of them on your own."

"Fortunately I ha' th' best o' neighbours who took up my girls. They grew up next door while I worked until they were old enough to work themselves. It was 'ard but we managed an' my daughters turned out none too badly. Jenny would've loved all these children in 'er 'ouse. Sometimes I feel 'er watching from up there. I 'ope she's proud o' what she sees."

He looked at me. "Thornton, I for one don't think tha' Margaret 'olds anything against yo'. She knows you've a heart or she wouldn't ha' convinced me to go to yo' for work. Believe me, it took a fair amount o' convincing to swallow my pride an' come to yo'."

I looked at him incredulously as he continued, "I'm fair in thinking tha' she liked yo' well enough. Margaret was always happy to hear about your improvements to th' mill, an' she stood up for yo' even when I ha' called yo' all manner o' things."

Was there any truth to Higgins' words? Had she changed her opinion of me? I had noticed that after the loss of her mother Margaret had been more gentle, but I had always attributed her softening to grief. Unfortunately, her lack of antagonism had been superseded by my resentment and jealousy.

I shook my head. "If she cared for me I would have heard from her since she became my landlord all those months ago, but I have only received letters from her agent and attorney. I doubt that she gives Milton a thought – I'm certain that she couldn't wait to leave – and so would I if a place had brought me so much suffering."

"No, I don't think she dislikes Milton. I think th' town grew on 'er an' in th' end she came to appreciate our northern ways, even th' ways o' certain masters."

"Do not tease, Higgins. I think you're much mistaken."

"Well that's what I reckon an' yo' can make o' it what yo' will. But I wager tha' you' might ha' a chance if yo' asked."

I sighed. "I can't Higgins. I tried once and failed, and to ask her now would make me look like a fortune hunter. She may no longer dislike me outright but an heiress deserves more in life than a failed mill-owner. I will have to begin again on my own, though after the mess I made of Marlborough Mills I doubt that there would be any investors willing to take a chance on me."

"Yo' won't ha' to start from nought. Look at the petition I gave yo' yesterday. You've a whole army o' men who would work for yo' at a moment's notice. Yo' underestimate us. We've two eyes to see an' can tell th' difference between a fair master an' a foul one. Besides, if th' world couldn't appreciate a man like yo' then there's little 'ope for anybody."

Higgins stood up and gathered his now empty plate. "No, Thornton, I know tha' you'll rise up again, no matter what yo' presently think."

His hand paused over my plate. "Thirds?"

"No thanks. I'm full up." I turned to Mary. "Thank you Mary for preparing the meal. Even better than the stew at the mill."

She smiled gently. "You're very welcome, Mr. Thornton."

I looked out the window to see that dusk had fallen and the time had come for me to be getting home. I rose and put on my now dry coat, but was arrested by Tom's cheeky grin. After the many evenings spent in my office waiting for Higgins, he was no longer anxious in my presence. To my delight, the once mum lad could be downright mischievous.

"Sir, we've a surprise for yo'. Would yo' like to see it?"

"Of course, Tom. What is it?"

"Can't tell yo'! You've got to wait!"

He grinned broadly as he dragged me to the bed where his brothers and sisters sat giggling away.

"We learnt this song from Mary today." Tom announced proudly.

"Just today, eh?" I replied, catching Mary's eye. She visibly blushed before returning to her dirty dishes.

"Aye, and we'd like to sing it for yo'."

"Well," I said, seating myself on the edge of the bed, "Let's hear it then."

Tom took charge, ordering his siblings off the bed and lining them up in as straight a line as he could. Together they sang a familiar rhyme, performing little actions to each phrase.

"Twinkle, twinkle little star,

How I wonder what you are,

Up above the world so high,

Like a diamond in the sky,

Twinkle, twinkle little star,

How I wonder what you are."

When they finished, Higgins and I clapped. Our praise was followed by more giggling and blushes. I reached into my pocket and gave each child a penny which was received amidst gasps of wonder. After farewelling each one of his charges, Higgins showed me to the door.

"I wonder at you, Thornton, you're not as tough as you make out." he said with a glint in his eye. "But 'twas good to ha' yo' 'ere. I know tha' we mayn't always see eye to eye, but th' children think well o' yo', Tom especially. Please think o' this place as your own. We'd all be 'appy to see yo' again."

My spirit rose at his open invitation, made without a hint of the wariness and distrust that had marked the beginning of our acquaintance. "Thank you, Higgins. Believe me when I say that I sincerely appreciate all you've done today."

"No need to thank me – friends look out for each other, don't they?"

"Of course they do." I acknowledged, unable to resist grinning broadly at his admittance.

Higgins held out his hand. "Then goodnight Thornton. 'ope to catch yo' again soon, tho' with any luck I won't ha' to fish yo' out o' th' rain."

I returned his firm grip and laughed. "Night to you too, Higgins."

Walking into the growing dusk, my heart felt infinitely lighter. The rain clouds had lifted and I saw stars emerge out of the vast expanse of indigo. The children's rhyme floated through my mind – sparkling diamonds in the sky – like my Margaret who was brilliant, beautiful and strong. Like the stars, her presence had guided me out of my stark existence into a life filled with possibilities that I had only previously dreamed of, a life of happiness and love. But with her gone I had again lost my way.

Then I remembered the vow I made months ago to visit Helstone. My troubles had made it impossible for me to fulfil it but now I had no reason to postpone.

Not that I wished to postpone.

Visiting her birthplace was now the closest I would ever get to Margaret. Despite Higgins' opinion I would never impose my presence upon her until I was sure that it was welcomed, and unless a miracle transpired, that would never eventuate.

The meadows and forests of Hampshire beckoned, and so southbound I would go.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks for all the comments, folks. They're always much appreciated after all the hard work.**

* * *

In the Company of Children

By Winam

Chapter 7

There had been little time to talk of Marlborough Mills so I was only able to inform Henry of my plans once we were on the train. Being apprehensive of Mr. Thornton's financial situation, he was not wholly enthusiastic about my proposal. We did however agree on a course of action – Henry would see my Milton agent at the Britannica Hotel while I sought a meeting with Mr. Thornton at Marlborough Mills. I hoped that a tête-à-tête would be enough to persuade him to return to the hotel with me, where Henry would outline the proposition in full.

The streets of Milton hummed with activity as I made my way by cab to the mill. Women shopped for tea, men unloaded goods from carts, children chased each other down the street. Tradesmen and gentlemen, maids and ladies rubbed shoulders in the midday haze. My spirit rejoiced at seeing these familiar scenes while my pulse quickened in anticipation. Soon I would gaze at his noble countenance once more, shake his sturdy hand, and listen to his baritone voice. Would I be able to speak of business when my heart desperately wanted to speak of other things?

The cab deposited me at the front gate. I rang the bell and waited. When it did not illicit a response, I pushed at the gate which was not barred. I slipped inside and was met by…

Silence.

The yard, once the hive of activity, stood vacant and forlorn. There was no sign of life there, nor was there anyone in the office or in the enormous carding room. The din of machinery would have once drowned out all other noise, but now my footsteps echoed in the cavernous space. The emptiness reminded me of all that had been lost, of all that could be regained if I intervened.

Only one person remained – his faithful mother – who approached me in the sorting room with no small amount of spite.

"Come to look over your possessions, have you?" she chided, "When he's worked all his life for them."

Mrs. Thornton never liked me. She believed that I had never appreciated her son's true worth and had purposely toyed with his affections. She always made her opinions known but for all her bluster she looked surprisingly fragile today, no more a dragon than I was a queen. When I saw her struggle to contain her distress I could not help but touch her arm. Still, she clung to her pride like a drowning man to a flimsy raft, and my attempt at comfort was shrugged away. Would her son be equally proud and refuse my help?

Where was he?

"He's not here… I don't know where he is." said Mrs. Thornton with evident concern. I thought of his father's actions under similar circumstances. No! Surely he was stronger than that? Surely he knew that he had no need to be ashamed, that he had behaved honourably and hence would never be derided for his reduced circumstances? Surely he would return and carry on?

I came away from the mill more distraught than when I entered it, and at a loss at what to do next. When I returned to the hotel I found Henry in the tea room perusing some documents. He stood up when he spotted me.

"Margaret, you weren't gone for very long. Your agent had just left and-" Henry stopped abruptly when he saw my despondent face. "What is wrong? Are you unwell?"

"No, just overcome by the smoke, that is all."

"Then please sit down here and I will order some tea to revive you."

I gratefully sat down on the settee and took off my hat while Henry sought out a waiter. A few moments later he returned and sat in the seat adjacent to mine. "The air is rather stifling here, is it not? How you could have borne this dreary place?"

"It is not so bad once you get used to it."

"I am not so convinced, but let us get straight to the matter at hand – what did Mr. Thornton say? Did he turn you away?"

I shook my head. "He was not there. He left suddenly yesterday without indicating when he will return."

Henry sat back in his chair. "That is most unfortunate, Margaret. What a waste of a journey this has been! I knew we should have engaged a third party from the start."

Has the journey been a waste of time? Had I been too hasty in rushing to Milton knowing so little of what had occurred since my departure? Doubts began to encroach with astonishing rapidity.

"I'm sorry Henry for dragging you here."

"Oh, I do not mind coming here with you. I am only sorry that Thornton does not seem to take his business matters at all seriously."

"You could not be more wrong." I reproached.

"Then what does he mean by this? It is all very suspicious. Perhaps his disappearance is an attempt to conceal some kind of misconduct?"

"Henry, that is unjust! It is against his character to be so underhanded, particularly when he himself is a magistrate."

"A magistrate?" questioned Henry. "A manufacturer a magistrate?"

"Yes Henry, such things are possible." I replied irritably.

He took a deep breath and composed himself. "Let's not be cross with each other. I am only finding it difficult to understand why you should be so concerned about Marlborough Mills. You know my feelings about this investment – with the cotton industry in recession I do not think it is at all wise."

"And you know my feelings – I have total faith in Mr. Thornton."

Henry shook his head. "I hope that he makes good a return on your investment, though his recent performance does not give me comfort. Why do you think so highly of him?"

"What do you have against him? Mr. Thornton is highly respected here, not only for his business acumen but also because he is good and fair. He was brought up without advantages of any kind – his success stemmed solely from his abilities and determination to better himself and his family. Surely such a man deserves respect? A second chance?"

"His achievements in that light are indeed admirable."

"He is not vain or too proud of his position to befriend a family without wealth or connections such as mine. I am forever grateful for his friendship to us. Without him we would have been lost here, so it is only natural that I assist him as he had assisted us."

"But not many friends are willing to literally give away their fortune." said Henry before lapsing into silence. He studied me for a few moments, before saying, "I must say that I am concerned about you, Margaret."

"Why? What have you to be concerned about?"

"You are usually so rational, but this proposal, well, it is not a rational act. Pardon my impertinence, but I need to know – are you attached or obliged to Mr. Thornton in any way? I ask only because I am at a loss to think of why you are so determined to undertake this venture."

How could I convince Henry of the importance of this proposition? Of the importance of Mr. Thornton in the lives of his now unemployed workers? "I am not under any obligation to Mr. Thornton." I answered coldly. "The only obligation I confess to is that of every Christian to care for those in need. I have seen children starve and do not want them to suffer if it is in my power to help them."

"You are not responsible for the whole of Milton, you know. Mr. Bell never had any philanthropic ventures."

"And Mr. Bell did not outlaw philanthropy when he entrusted his fortune to me. He only asked that his money be put to good use – this is the best use I can think of."

"But if philanthropy is your aim, then surely there are more worthy charitable concerns in the country? Why Marlborough Mills?" he enquired. "Do you care for Mr. Thornton?"

Blushing deeply, I paced to the window in an attempt to conceal my discomposure.

"You need not answer, Margaret. It is plain to see that you do."

"My personal feelings are of little relevance here." I retorted. "The only question that should be asked is whether Mr. Thornton would be able to put the money to good use, and I believe he can. Unlike most Milton masters he is genuinely concerned for the well-being of his employees, and that is more important than any amount of profit-making."

Then an idea came to me. If I could not convince him of the benefit of the proposition then he must meet someone who could.

Returning to the settee, I picked up my hat. "Well, since we have some time to spare, let us visit my friends. I would dearly love to introduce them to you."

As with the rest of Milton, Princeton seemed unchanged since my last visit. Women still starched linen and plucked fowl by the roadside, while men sat smoking their pipes. On our arrival in Francis Street many pairs of eyes intently followed our progress from the cab to the door of Nicholas Higgins' cottage.

Henry glanced about nervously. "Are you sure this is the right place?"

"I'm very certain, Henry."

Then I heard a small voice call out, "Miss Margaret! Is it yo'?"

A little blonde girl ran towards us in excitement. "Hello Beatrice!"

The girl shouted to one of her companions, "Tom! It's Miss Margaret!"

I saw Tom Boucher's head spring up. A wide smile spread over his face before he too ran over to us. I bent down and gave each child a kiss on the cheek.

"Oh, it's good to see you both. Look how much you've grown! It's a wonder that I can still recognise you."

They giggled heartily before Tom said, "Yo' must come inside. Mary would like to see yo'."

"Oh aye, Miss!" said Beatrice. "We've all missed yo'."

Henry gave me a bemused smile as the two elder Bouchers led us into the cottage where we were greeted by the laughter of children. The younger Bouchers played on the floor with a set of marbles while Mary peeled vegetables at the dining table. As we entered she glanced warily at us and a long moment passed before she recognised me.

"Margaret!" she cried. Mary was no longer the shy girl who had guardedly opened the door on my first visit to her home. Under the challenges of the ensuing months she had blossomed into a young woman, strong and affectionate. She hugged me tightly before studying me at an arm's length. "My word, you're so fine lookin'. I wouldn't ha' recognised yo' if it weren't for your hat."

I giggled. "Thank goodness for this old thing then."

"I saw 'er first, Mary!" cried Beatrice.

"An' she kissed me first!" added Tom.

"Well you were both very clever to see through my disguise." I replied with amusement. Then I remembered my companion. "Henry, this is my good friend Mary Higgins. Mary, my friend Henry Lennox from London."

"How do yo' do sir." she bowed. He returned her greeting.

Mary introduced all the Bouchers before seating us at the table and leaving us to prepare some tea.

"Boucher?" asked Henry. "Are these children the ones we established the fund for?"

"Yes, the very ones."

I noticed that he was slightly disconcerted by this news but I could not dwell on it as Tom and Beatrice returned bringing me their favourite book. Their reading was much improved – Tom was remarkably fluent while Beatrice, who previously had little interest in books, mimicked her brother eagerly.

Looking about the room I saw that all the Bouchers seemed cheerful and well-taken care of. When compared to the distraught, newly-orphaned children of a year ago, the change was astonishing. Their happiness was a testament to Nicholas' and Mary's love and their dedication to be a family to these little ones.

When the tea was ready Mary charged Tom and Beatrice to take their younger siblings outside to play. "Now we can ha' a bit o' quiet." exhaled Mary as she sat down with us.

"They are still lively, I see." I chuckled.

"Aye, but between Father an' I we've managed to get a fair handle o' 'em – well, most o' th' time."

"Nicholas and Mary have been very good foster-parents since the children's own parents passed away a year ago." I explained to Henry.

"But we wouldn't ha' done half so well if it weren't for yo', Margaret. Yo' helped us more times than I could count when th' children first came to live with us an' now with their studyin'. An' Mr. Thornton too."

"Mr. Thornton? Does he also take an interest?" he enquired.

"Yes, he found a good school for Tom, an' Beatrice is set to join 'im in a few weeks. With th' master's an' now your help, all o' th' children will be able to go to school."

"We came to Milton on business to see him. I was at the mill just now but wasn't able to find him."

"That is odd. He was 'ere just two days ago. Came in with Father an' he looked so crushed tha' I couldn't help being sorry for 'im. Thank goodness Father managed to cheer 'im a little."

I thought of him deep in misery. I was glad that Nicholas had been there for him but wished that I had been the one to give him comfort, though in reality I could do little more than pray.

The whistle of the kettle brought Mary once again into action. She took three cups from the sideboard, poured tea into each one, and served it to us. When she sat down again, I asked, "Where is Nicholas?"

"He's gone to Slickson's to ask for work. Not tha' any place is as good as Thornton's – his mill ha' th' best conditions an' pay. Everyone's sad tha' it's closed, an' sad for th' master who worked as 'ard as anyone. I 'ope Father gets work soon, but I also 'ope tha' the master finds somethin' too. If he hadn't given Father work we might ha' all gone to th' workhouse. Now some say tha' he may never be a master again."

"Well, it is early days yet." I consoled. "I am sure things will turn around soon."

"How? Are yo' goin' to do somethin'? Father says tha' yo' own half o' Milton now."

I grinned for Mary had hit very close to the truth. "Well, I may know nothing of mills and cotton but I may be able to help in other ways."

"Will yo'? Tha' may turn things around. It can't be any worse tha' the strike last year."

"No, and I will do all I can to prevent such suffering from happening again."

Not wanting to revisit that painful time, I turned the conversation to old friends in Princetown and Mary happily filled me in on their comings and goings. Soon Henry, who had been quietly observing our conversation, drew my attention to the time.

"We must leave if we are to catch the afternoon train." he prompted.

"Oh no, Margaret, yo' can't go when you've not even seen Father!"

"I'm sorry Mary, I must go but it means that I have an excuse to return soon."

"I 'ope so, though yo' need no excuse to visit us, yo' know. You're part o' th' family."

Mary led us outside, where I kissed her on the cheek and hugged her tightly. The children, who had observed us taking leave, now surrounded us. I hugged each one in turn, encouraging them to be good to their foster-parents. After all leave-taking was completed, Mary accompanied us to the main thoroughfare while Henry left us momentarily to procure a passing cab.

"I 'ope yo' will come again." she said sorrowfully. "Yo' are like a sister to me."

"And so you are to me, Mary." I replied, the words catching in my throat. "I have missed this house and this town. I promise to come back and next time I will not wait so many months."

A cab came all too quickly and after giving Mary one last embrace Henry handed me inside. As the cab drove away I thought over the events of the day – the nervous train journey, the desolation of the mill, the disappointment of not meeting Mr. Thornton and then concern for his wellbeing, the generous welcome at Francis Street. Yes, my decision to invest was the right one and I would brave all disapproval to ensure that it does not fail.

The day reaffirmed just how precious Milton and its people were in my life – this was where I belonged. Never mind the lack of family nor that the person I cared for most cared not for me – this was where I most wanted to be!

I had found a way to save the mill – could I find a way to stay?


	8. Chapter 8

In the Company of Children

By Winam

Chapter 8

"Helstone Junction!" cried the attendant.

Easing open the carriage door, I stepped out on to the platform and into the warm air. It seemed that I was the only person leaving the train at this stop, which consisted of no more than a platform with a simple station-master's hut. A row of poplars, splendid in their deepest green, lined either side of the tracks.

As the train chugged away the station-master himself approached me. I asked him for directions to the village, to which he replied, "Well, you can go along the road there but it's a full three mile. Or you can take the path through the trees and across the meadow and it'd be half that distance. If you don't care to walk then Roper will be along in a minute with his fly."

"No thank you, I'd much rather walk."

"Don't blame you. Wish I was out in the fields myself, but someone has to work."

He looked at me closely. "You visiting someone?"

"No, just passing through."

"No one just 'passes through' these parts, but you're very welcome, of course. If you need a place to stay then the Lennard Arms is as good an inn as any, Mrs. Purkis being a fastidious innkeeper. Where are you from?"

"Milton."

"Oh," he dismissed, "From up north. Well I daresay you'll find things a touch quieter here." He touched his cap. "All the best to you sir. Follow the path yonder for a mile-and-a-half and you'll find Helstone."

I thanked him and took the path he suggested through the grove of poplars whose branches swayed gently in the breeze. I soon came upon a lush meadow bordered by a dry stone wall. Climbing over a wooden stile, I cut through the long grass, past haystacks and grazing cattle that took little notice of my progress. The sun burned bright and hot on my back. Suddenly the coat that had been a necessity in Milton became a hindrance and I stopped to take it off along with the cravat which I tucked into my pocket. After some thought I also rolled up my sleeves to the elbows before continuing on.

At the end of the pasture I traversed another stile and followed the path into the woods. Here, towering cedars and slender beech formed a rich canopy that hid a cool wonderland of dappled sunlight and ferns that carpeted the forest floor. I breathed in the fresh, damp air, so clean in comparison to the smoke that seemed to permeate everything in Milton. I gazed about in wonder. Never had I seen forests of such beauty, my experience of the countryside being limited to the occasional ramble on the stark Darkshire moors. These trees seemed to have a presence of their own, so majestic were they to my eyes. What wisdom could they hold after keeping watch over the forest for hundreds, nay, thousands of years?

I ambled down the path that meandered between trees and bushes and then crossed a gurgling stream by a set of stepping stones. In a clearing I stumbled upon a pair of wild ponies grazing and grooming, their golden coats and long white manes shining in the gloom. I stilled to watch them for a moment as the leggy foal nuzzled its mother playfully, while the mare nibbled on a patch of grass. I attempted to sneak closer but my movement startled them, and to my dismay they quickly cantered away into the undergrowth.

Eventually the woods gave way to a larger meadow where I spied a row of chimneys visible from behind the trees on the hilltop. I eagerly walked up the hill, past the giant oak standing guard, the thatched and tiled-roofed cottages with their hanging baskets overflowing with cheerful blooms, and into the village that was the epitome of the Southern idyll.

The entirety of Helstone was nestled around its village green. How miniature the buildings seemed compared to the grand architecture of Milton! A row of shops, each displaying their wares, stood on one side of the green. Clangs emanated from the dark and fiery interior of the smithy opposite it. The Lennard Arms, set adjacent to the shops, looked more like a farmhouse than an inn with its plain brick exterior. And an archway next to the smithy led to the churchyard, through which I entered.

The church, like all the buildings in the village, was exceedingly simple in design – grey-stone walls, steep roof, and stout bell-tower. Stepping inside, I let my eyes adjust to the dimness and then wander to the stained-glass windows that cast rainbows across the serene interior. The largest window depicted the Lord's birth, death and resurrection. The image of the crucifixion was striking – His stoic suffering, the marked distress on His mother's face, the unyielding faith of His disciple – I knew what it was to be in each person's place.

I knew what it was to shoulder the yoke of others, to helplessly witness the suffering of a loved-one, and to mourn. I knew what it was to place complete faith in another at a time when the world seemed to be splintering. Now I must again acquire such faith, the only quality that could sustain me through the trials ahead. But what if that faith was unattainable?

Walking down the centre aisle, I sat in a pew opposite the pulpit. This perhaps, was where Margaret and Mrs. Hale sat while they listened to Mr. Hale's sermons in a church full of friends – friends now long left behind. How difficult would it have been to relinquish the friendships of a lifetime and move to a large town where people had little concern for their neighbours, let alone strangers from far away? I felt guilty for not doing more to assist them when I had every means of easing their transition into Milton life. If I had made more of an effort, had been more encouraging to Mother and my other acquaintances to include them, then perhaps…

No! It does little good to dwell on past mistakes! Instead, I left the church and wandered through the churchyard smattered with yew and gravestones to what seemed to be the parsonage – the Hales' former home. The house was so unlike the narrow Crampton terrace with its small rooms and steep staircase. This was a sizeable cottage with a brick façade draped in ivy and large windows overlooking the hills and woodlands.

Not wanting to disturb its occupants, I circled the house to the meadow behind it where my eyes were captivated by a carpet of yellow. In the warmth of the sun, roses thrived behind the shelter of a hedgerow. Attracted by the bold colour, I ignored the abundant thorns and plucked a flower to admire its brilliancy and breathe in its subtle fragrance. The flower reminded me of the girl who may have worn these blooms, who had once played in this very meadow. She too had been plucked from this haven, though unlike the rose that would soon wither and die, she had survived.

She had survived being transplanted to a town as far removed from this natural wonderland as the earth from the moon – a town of smoke, crowds, noise and vastly different ways. How resilient must she have been to bravely form friendships and determinedly carve a new life for herself! Even when fate handed her the heaviest of blows, her innate strength had carried her through these trials with admirable grace and dignity.

I continued along the crest of the hill until I returned to the giant oak I had passed on the way into the village. Its delicious shade enticed me to sit under its branches. Placing the flower carefully into my shirt pocket, I then laid my coat on the grass behind me and reclined upon it. Leaves rippled gently in the breeze, revealing snatches of deep blue sky above me. As I meditated on this soothing image I felt the strain of many months gradually ease. The rustle of leaves lulled me into a peaceful sleep.

I dreamed of Margaret reclining on the grass beside me, her head snuggled into the curve of my arm, her long tresses splayed over my shoulder, her small hand on my breast. Taking that hand, I caressed it gently with my thumb, marvelling at its softness against the calloused surface of my skin. How alive I felt being in the arms of the most wondrous creature on earth! My joy burst forth and I felt my whole being transfigured by the love that coursed through me.

Then in a child's gentle voice, my Margaret sang,

"Alas, my love, you do me wrong

To cast me off discourteously

For I have loved you oh, so long

Delighting in your company."

The sweet voice haunted me as I was gently roused from my slumber. Opening my eyes, I found that the songstress was not Margaret but a young girl who sat a little ways from me against the trunk of the oak. Oblivious to her audience, she continued,

"Greensleeves was my heart of gold,

Greensleeves was my delight.

Greensleeves was my heart of joy,

Alas, my Lady Greensleeves."

Propping myself up on my elbows, I saw that she was little more than twelve years of age, chestnut-haired and dressed in the simple garb of a young country girl. My movement startled her. "Oh, forgive me for having wakened you, sir! I did not mean to sing so loud."

"You did not disturb me in the least – it is a lovely song. I have not heard it for many a year."

"Yes, it is lovely, though sad as his love does not seem to care for him at all, regardless of all he did."

I was unable to reply, thinking that the song echoed my own circumstances.

The girl however was not disturbed by my silence. She gazed at me intently before inquiring, "Are you staying with us, sir?"

"Pardon me?" said I.

"Well, I have never seen you before so you could not be a friend or relation of anyone here. I think you must be staying with us – at the inn."

"The inn! So your mother is the innkeeper, Mrs. Purkis?"

She smiled. "Yes, I'm Katherine Purkis, her daughter, though I like Kate better."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Purkis. I'm Mr. Thornton."

She returned my salutation with a giggle, but her assumption compelled me to consult my watch. It was indeed later than I supposed.

"I think I will be staying at the inn tonight since it is far too late for me to return to Milton."

"Milton? That is very far to the north, is it not? Mrs. Hepworth – my schoolmistress – says that it is very cold and smoky in the North."

"I confess that it is colder than here and smoky in some towns because of the many chimneys."

"Chimneys?" she quizzed.

"Yes, from the factories where they make cotton and wool – what you might find at the drapers. We spin and weave the fabric there too."

"Mrs. Wolstone spins and weaves but I cannot imagine a factory full of people like her!"

"Well, we have machines to help so it is done quicker."

"Truly? My brother Andrew is interested in machines. He talks of engines and pumps and steam so much that it fairly bores me. He always wants me to accompany him to the train station but I much prefer to go down to the stream and collect plants and rocks. Or climb this tree, though sometimes I stay away because too many come here. It is the favourite tree of the village since it is so stout and good for climbing. Mother says that it may have lived when King Alfred ruled Wessex, though it may have only been a seedling then. We learned of him at school too, though Mrs. Hepworth does not think the tree as old as Alfred."

"It is certainly impressive. I did not have such a tree to play in when I was a child. All I had was my cousin's attic."

"We have an attic too!" she said excitedly. "The one at home is very grand. Andrew and I discovered many things when we played there – mostly on rainy afternoons. Or when we're not at school or at our studies, or helping Mother… It must be sad not to have a favourite tree."

"There aren't many trees in Milton for they have long been felled to make way for houses, warehouses and shops."

"I cannot imagine a place without trees. Mother takes me to Southampton sometimes and though there aren't many there, it is not treeless. I am glad to have this tree. And to live in Helstone. It's the most wonderful place in the world!"

I smiled at her chatter and her contentment with her home. At her age I was fairly content with my world too, though my home was more akin to a dungeon compared to the vast playground that she enjoyed. If Margaret's childhood was anything like this child's then I could only wonder at her sense of bereavement when she was forced to leave it forever.

But after a day's travel and not a single meal to break it, it was long time that I sought some nourishment. Turning to Miss Purkis, I asked her to take me to the inn. She led me back to her home and asked me to wait in the taproom while she sought her mother. The interior was as inconspicuous as its exterior – a rustic room of polished floorboards, exposed beams, and numerous paintings of rural scenes on its panelled walls.

Soon a woman bearing a strong resemblance to Miss Purkis entered. She greeted me warmly and apologised for keeping me waiting. "My daughter said you requested a room?"

"Yes, and dinner if you please. Whatever you may have would do very well."

She offered me a selection of cold meats and bread with her own blackberry jam. "And some of our ale too?"

"Yes, that will all do very well."

It was not long before she returned with her daughter to lay out the repast. I thanked them both and settled into the meal, relishing the bread, meats and good ale after having eaten nothing since my early breakfast in Milton.

When I had had my fill, Mrs. Purkis returned to clear away the plates. "Kate told me you've come from Milton, sir." she said as she wiped the table clean.

"Yes, I came from there just this morning."

"That is a mighty long ways to come. Funnily enough, I do have a connection there – the old vicar's family, though Milton being a big place I doubt that you would know them."

"Do you mean the Hales?"

"Aye! You do know them!"

"I know them quite well – Mr. Hale was my tutor."

"Tutor? One would think a gentleman like you don't need tutoring as you must have gone to college."

"No, my family were none so wealthy, but Mr. Hale was a good teacher and a good friend."

"He was a very kind and gentle man, with more fire in him that you would think, going against the bishop and all – I suppose you'd know of that."

I acknowledged that I did.

Mrs. Purkis laid down her rag and seated herself opposite me, before saying, "But I know they don't live in Milton anymore. Miss Hale and her uncle (or was it her godfather?) came here a month or two ago. I bumped into them on the green and when I asked after the vicar and the missus, she tells me that they've gone to the Lord! What a shock I had, the vicar passing so soon after the missus, and so far away from here! If anyone in the village had known, some would have gone to Milton to pay their respect. Miss Hale and Miss Dixon now live in London you know, with their well-to-do aunt, though I suppose you'd know that too. Tell me, have you heard from them?"

"Not recently, but I know that Miss Hale is well."

"I'm glad of it." She smiled to herself. "Miss Margaret sure had pluck. She and her brother were thick as thieves when they were younger, running around the forest and getting up to all sorts of scrapes. How she loved Master Frederick! Come to think of it, everyone loved Frederick Hale, him being so spritely and good-natured. You heard what happened to him, sir?"

"A little." said I, interested in learning more about the man whom I had once thought my rival.

"Well, it is old news around here, but you know that he was in the Navy? A few years ago, we hear he got charged with leading a mutiny! A mutiny, I say! One could not believe that such a lovely lad could do such a thing. It well-nigh shattered his family to see him charged, and it don't help that some folks around here thought it their place to trouble them with their brazen opinions! But the missus kept on saying that he had his reasons, that his captain was a horrible man. Whatever people think, they must feel at least a little sorry for the Hales as Master Frederick can't ever come back to England. Now he's living in some foreign place and still has a bounty on his head!"

She shook her head. "Poor Miss Margaret, her parents dead… If it weren't for her London relations then she would have no one!"

I sighed inwardly. How fortunate that despite my suspicion and jealousy I had made the right decision in saving Frederick Hale, a man that was well-loved as a brother, a son and a friend. How would it have been if I had done otherwise?

"It has been a very difficult time for Miss Hale." I said reflectively. "I am glad that she is well-taken care of now, though I'm still much saddened by the death of her parents. They were good to me in the short time I knew them. Mr. Hale talked of this village so often that I felt I had to visit… in honour of his memory."

"You are very kind sir, and I am glad to see that the family was not all alone in Milton."

She stood up. "But that's all by-the-by, and now I'm sure you'll be wanting your room."

Mrs. Purkis showed me upstairs to a small, simply furnished bedchamber that overlooked the meadow. Before she left the room, she invited me downstairs for the evening. "A few people would be interested in hearing how the old vicar got on in Milton, and any friend of his is welcome in Helstone."

I kindly thanked her. Already heady from being immersed in Margaret's world, I was further gladdened by Mrs. Purkis' hospitality. What a day it had been! The vivacity of Kate Purkis and the compassion of her mother, the brilliance of the yellow rose and the majesty of the forest – Helstone was truly the embodiment of Margaret's essence.

Sadly, this was all I could ever have of her – a walk in the landscape of her childhood, fleeting recollections from those who had known her – mere shadows instead of her vibrant self. I glanced at the meadow, determined to ingrain the scene to memory.

Could I live on memories for the subsequent years of my life? Could I take consolation in the fact that I had loved?

Was one ardent love in a lifetime enough?

Despite the elation of this interlude, I knew that Milton beckoned me to return. By its own bidding, my mind resumed the familiar motions of thinking and planning.

Then with a start, I realised that I could not go home just yet.

There was one final visit that I needed to make.


	9. Chapter 9

In the Company of Children

By Winam

Chapter 9

It was past ten by the time we returned to Harley Street. I wrapped my shawl tightly to ward off the chill before Henry silently handed me down from the carriage. He led me up to my aunt's door, bowed stiffly and turned away to depart, but his noticeable apprehension moved me to reassure him.

"Henry, thank you for accompanying me today." I said earnestly, "I know it has been a long and rather trying day, but please know that I am very grateful that you came."

My gentle words thawed his countenance for a moment, but they were not enough to induce him to accept my invitation to enter the house.

"I am sorry but I cannot stay." he said abruptly, "I have some urgent business that needs attending. Please apologise on my behalf to Mrs. Shaw." To my chagrin, he bowed and set off down the street before I had the chance to reply.

Aunt Shaw greeted my entrance into the drawing room with a stern, "So, you are back!" and asked why Henry did not come in – I thankfully explained his absence to her satisfaction. Captain Lennox was a little more gallant, casting me a generous bow, but Edith's welcome surpassed them all.

"Margaret!" she cried, taking my hand and kissing my cheek affectionately, "I did miss you so today while we were at Bond Street. You look worn out, my dear. Have you had your supper?"

When I admitted that I had not, Edith called for it to be laid out for me. She then sat me on the chaise longue and asked about the journey – was it very long, where did we have our dinner, was it very smoky and unpleasant? I gave her as brief an account as I could muster. Captain Lennox, more interested in the mill, was disappointed to find that my visit was so short that I could impart little that was of interest to him.

Tired as I was, I ate supper quickly and excused myself to my bedchamber as soon as I had had my fill. Dixon soon came up and assisted me out of my corset and petticoats. As she unpinned and brushed my hair, she recounted the news of the day. I half-listened to her chatter but gave such vague replies that even Dixon noticed my absence of mind.

"You seem out-of-sorts tonight, Miss Margaret. Anything the matter?"

My half-hearted assurances did nothing to convince her. "You won't fob me off so easily. I know all your looks and something's definitely amiss if you have that frown on you. What happened in Milton today?"

Thinking it inappropriate to tell her of my most pressing concerns, I instead talked of meeting Mary and the children.

"Oh Mary!" Dixon exclaimed, "She's a sweet girl, I must say. How is she?"

"Admirably well, considering the circumstances. The family just had a blow – Marlborough Mills closed but a few days ago."

Dixon cried that she could not believe it and hoped that things would improve.

"I sincerely hope so. In any case, Nicholas was already out looking for work – that was why I missed seeing him today."

Then I told her of my actual objective, thinking that she would be glad of my intention to reopen the mill, but Dixon's reaction was the exact opposite of what I had envisaged. "Miss Margaret, your mother would say that a lady shouldn't worry herself about such matters." said Dixon as she shook her head.

"But I do not want anyone to despair as they did during the strike!" I replied passionately. "And if I don't take action I doubt that anyone else would."

"I'm sure that you're doing what you think is best, miss, but I must say that it's still not your place."

"Nor is it yours to question me, Dixon!"

"Miss Margaret!" she cried in indignation.

Oh, what was wrong with me today? Was I determined to quarrel with everyone?

"Forgive me Dixon." I whispered. "You're right, I'm dreadfully out-of-sorts today."

Dixon held her silence until she had finished my toilette. Before she retired for the night she handed me a caller's card. "A Mrs. Crawford called upon you this morning, miss." she said gruffly, before leaving the room.

I remembered that I had indeed invited Mrs. Crawford – Sophie – to call on me, though I had not expected it to be so soon. I considered sending round an invitation for tomorrow afternoon, but then saw that paying her a morning visit would infinitely be better. It would keep me out of Henry's way if he happened to drop by, which he frequently did before luncheon. It would also keep me from the curious eyes of my aunt and cousin, who would detect immediately that all was not well between us.

As with my first visit, I looked forward to seeing Sophie again, but sadly these meetings were the closest I would ever get to _him_. Unless…

Unless he was visiting at this very moment!

Laying the card on the bureau, I blew out the candles and slipped under the cool covers. As I waited for sleep to claim me I could not help but think that Mr. Thornton at this very moment was perhaps less than a mile away. Even the disappointments of the day could not temper my hope, and consequently it was some time before I fell asleep.

I awoke to a bright and crisp morning. A part in the curtains revealed a deep, blue sky that declared autumn's arrival. In my eagerness to begin the day, I called Dixon earlier than usual. I was not surprised to find that I was the first to breakfast, which consisted of a hastily consumed cup of tea and a slice of bread-and-butter.

Like a defiant schoolgirl, I escaped up the street to New Road, where traffic was already rumbling. The bustle of the morning made it a relief to escape into the quieter recesses of Regent's Park. At this early hour there was no one present apart from the caretaker working the garden beds and the occasional nurse with her charges. I sat on our usual bench, gazing at the pond's mirror-like surface that reflected the branches hanging overhead and the wispy clouds that flew across the brilliant sky.

My heart still clung to the notion that Mr. Thornton had come to town, though my mind chided that he may well be at home this very instant. I dearly wished that I was back in the North where I could assure myself of his safety, where I could do more to help those I cared for, but my family were of little help. Captain Lennox sold out before he married so there was no possibility him relocating to a Northern regiment, neither could I recall any of Aunt Shaw's acquaintances having connections in Darkshire. Most of her friends resided exclusively in town and those few with country estates owned southern ones. How could I ever return?

The park had filled with morning strollers and riders by the time I headed for the Crawford's house. Their cheerful housekeeper led me into the drawing room, and a moment later the hostess entered, not alone, but with her daughter keenly at her heels.

They both warmly shook my hand and I was barely seated when Daisy, in great excitement, burst forth with, "Oh, I'm so glad you've come, miss."

"It is wonderful to see you too, Daisy. What a lovely dress you are wearing."

"Yes, pink is my favourite colour. My dolly wears a pink dress too. Isn't Sholto here?"

"No, he is at home this morning."

"Oh, why could he not come?"

"Now Daisy," her mother interceded, "Please mind your manners or it is back to the nursery."

"But Mamma, I want to see Sholto."

"I'm sure you can see him soon." said I. "I will ask his mother if he might come to the park tomorrow."

But little Daisy was a determined creature. "That's not soon enough! I want to see him today!"

"Daisy!" her mother scolded, but she paid little heed and continued to work herself into a tantrum until her nurse arrived to take her away.

When calm was restored to the drawing room, Sophie apologised profusely for her daughter's poor behaviour. "I daresay I should not have brought her out of the nursery this morning, but she is not usually so ill-mannered."

"No need to apologise, Sophie – I know all children have their moments. It is the same with Sholto when I care for him."

"Ah, so that is why you are so at ease with children."

"Yes. He of course has a nurse, but my cousin is not often in the nursery so I spend a considerable amount of time with him."

"Nathaniel and I try to spend as much time with the children as possible. That was how my mother raised me, and I think it does both parents good to know their own children. Fortunately, Nathaniel is also fond of children and approves of my unconventional methods."

We conversed a little more about child rearing until a servant brought in the tea tray. She had left the door slightly ajar and my ears pricked at the sound of a deep voice filtering in from the hallway. My heart lurched as heavy footsteps approached the drawing room, but the man who entered, though tall, was fair and had auburn hair.

"Pardon my intrusion," he said, bowing slightly, "Darling, I will be a little late for dinner, but please set a place for me as I won't be long."

"Can you spare a moment, Nathaniel? I'd like to introduce you to Miss Hale. She is the lady I told you about who had lately lived in Milton and is acquainted with our cousins, the Thorntons. Miss Hale, my husband."

He smiled and took my hand while we exchanged civilities. After seating himself next to me, he inquired about my time in Milton. He had a calm disposition that was unlike the liveliness of his wife's, but his disposition did not lack warmth and his insightful answers implied that of a good listener.

Disarmed by his easy manners I was happy to talk about life in the North, but the conversation inevitably led to my family's connection with the Thorntons. Though it was not a subject I was comfortable with, I still did not want the Crawfords to suspect my uneasiness, so I told them of Mr. Thornton's friendship with my father and his generosity towards my family. "Indeed, I feel sorely indebted to him, so I was much concerned when I heard that Marlborough Mills had closed."

"We are all quite distressed about his circumstances, Miss Hale." he admitted. "You must be aware that Marlborough Mills has been in difficulty for sometime. John is well-known for his resourcefulness, but even he was not able to overcome this situation."

I replied thoughtfully, "Things have not been the same since the strike. I saw the effect that it had – the whole of Milton was in a bad way. To see children starve… Indeed, I cannot speak of it without picturing their pained faces."

"We cannot forget the strike that happened in our last year in Milton." said Sophie. "I felt the same helplessness you did, Margaret. Nathaniel and I did what we could, but it seemed so very little when more than half the town was starving. And the violence that ended it! There were riots for days on end!"

"I heard how it had been back then – this time round we were lucky. There was still rioting, and in Marlborough Mills at that, but it did not last. Mr. Thornton… his facing the rioters was what broke the strike."

"What?" Sophie cried, "We did not hear of this!"

I explained the situation leading up to the riots, taking care to exclude my own involvement.

"Was that not foolish? Dangerous?" said Sophie. "It sounds so unlike John."

"No, do not blame him! He was only trying to protect the Irish workers he had hired."

"Still, I assume that the police were on hand." said Mr. Crawford.

"Not when it broke out, but they arrived a moment later. I must reassure you – Mr. Thornton was unhurt. In fact, if he had not faced the crowd, the situation might have been worse."

Mr. Crawford rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I did not know of his role in breaking this strike – he had not told me. Nevertheless, the strike was a blow for Milton – Marlborough Mills never recovered."

"And now he has to begin all over again." sighed Sophie. "But Margaret, I recall last time you were here that you said you might know of someone who could help."

They both looked at me with such curiosity that I had to divert my eyes. How would they take the news of my ownership?

"Yes… I know of an investor and yesterday I was able to confirm their willingness to invest in the mill."

"And may we know the name of this potential investor?"

I looked up at them and murmured, "Me."

My pronouncement was met with puzzled silence. "It is a little awkward, and I am still getting used to it myself, but are you acquainted with my god-father, Mr. Bell?"

"Oh yes," replied Sophie, "We have met him several times at Aunt Thornton's dinner parties."

Mr. Crawford added that he knew Mr. Bell quite well through his various business dealings.

"He was my father's closest friend – they knew each other from Oxford – so after Mother passed away, Father asked him to be my guardian if anything should ever happen to him. When Father died suddenly last April, that was precisely what Mr. Bell did. Except I had not expected him to leave me his entire estate."

This information startled both the Crawfords. "So _you_ are the new owner of Marlborough Mills!" said Mr. Crawford. "John wrote that Mr. Bell had left the country, and that his properties were now in the hands of his god-daughter."

"You are fortunate, my dear, to have such a generous guardian." said Sophie.

"Indeed I am," I agreed, "But I do not deserve such generosity – I am only a country vicar's daughter and still overwhelmed by the responsibility of managing his estate. I promised Mr. Bell to make good use of his money, and I do not want to fail him."

"Of course not, though if most of Mr. Bell's estate is tied in property then there would not be much to do for you."

"Most of it _is_ in property, but there is a also an amount in the bank that I want to make use of. My advisors tell me otherwise, but if I were to invest it in the mill then Mr. Thornton would be able to reopen it immediately. Indeed, the reason why I was from home yesterday was because I went to Milton to put forward this proposal. But Mr. Thornton was not in town."

"Did you meet my aunt?" asked Sophie. "I am sure that she would know when he was to return."

"But she did not, Sophie. In fact, she told me that he simply disappeared that morning without a word. I rather thought that he might have come here."

"We have not had word since his letter of a week ago. But I am sure there is nothing to worry about." said Sophie.

Even if his current circumstances closely mirrored his father's? "I don't know. I heard from my friends that he was very, very low, so I hope he is well."

"I agree with Sophie. I am sure he is fine, and if I know John then he would not be down for long." Mr. Crawford said kindly, "Miss Hale, I am touched by your generosity. Knowing Mr. Bell's financial standing, I am sure that John would certainly consider your proposal."

He stood up and bowed, "I must go, but I think you should write to him immediately. I am willing to vouch for you if need be."

"Are you?" I said hopefully. "Thank you! I was uncertain of how Mr. Thornton would receive my proposal, but with your support I think he might be more inclined to accept."

Mr Crawford smiled. "You can depend on me, Miss Hale. But thank you for telling us. It is heartening to know that there is hope for John – he is a good man and a good friend so we both appreciate your efforts to help him."

He left the room but he had not been gone above a minute when the doorbell sounded. Sophie began to comment on how out-of-the-ordinary it was to have so many callers, when her husband re-entered the room.

"One more thing, my dear. No need to fear about our cousin John being in Timbuktu after all, because we finally have word from him."

Sophie laughed. "So where is he, my love?"

A familiar voice replied, "Right here, Sophie."


	10. Chapter 10

**And now for the penultimate chapter...**

* * *

In the Company of Children

By Winam

Chapter 10

Waterloo Station hummed with activity as passengers alighted from the Southampton train. The other occupants of the carriage had long gone by the time I stepped on to the platform and was immediately inundated by what seemed like mayhem. My senses struggled to absorb the crowd, noise and smells of the station after a day in the quietude of Hampshire, but I was not given the luxury to adjust as a stream of people swiftly swept me out on to the street.

I stumbled upon a waiting cab driver. "Where to guv?" he asked.

"To Armitage Square." I answered, before stepping inside his carriage. The driver curtly acknowledged my request before setting off as quickly as the thick London traffic allowed.

Sophie is the cousin closest to me in age, being only two years my junior. Our mothers are sisters and very close, so consequently we were playmates until I began to work at my uncle's drapers, Green's. Being constantly in each other's company gave us a thorough understanding of each other, though in essence we had always been very different. As children our mothers described us as spring and autumn, Sophie being sweet and lively while I was more subdued. Little has changed since then but our differences had not stopped us from being lifelong friends.

I met Nathaniel more recently after I began to manage Green's on my uncle's behalf. Since Nathaniel worked for one of our major suppliers I frequently met with him to negotiate orders. He was some ten years older than I, but we got on so well that we soon developed a friendship outside of business, particularly after he began to court Sophie. His friendship was invaluable – his patience grounded me when I was over-passionate and his perceptive mind provided guidance when I needed it most – but greatest of all was his compassionate nature that was evident in the care he showed towards even the slightest of his acquaintances.

I was happy when Sophie and Nathaniel married but missed their company sorely after they moved to London. My work prevented me from visiting often, so I was glad to be given the opportunity today. Their housekeeper Mrs. Markham was the first to greet me, but Nathaniel was not far behind. He had just taken up his hat but relinquished it as soon as he saw me.

"John! How do you do? Your letter last week so alarmed us. Since we received no further news we thought that you had skipped the country!"

I shook his hand and smiled at his evident concern. "Hello Nathaniel. I am sorry to not have written sooner but I am not lost on the Continent as you can see."

"Obviously not. In fact, I am happy to see you looking quite well. But listen, I must leave you now for I have a meeting with Harrison at twelve. I will take you to the ladies just to make sure you don't skip away before I return."

"I promise that I will stay _at least_ until you come home."

He laughed. "Excellent – I will be back for dinner and we can speak at length afterwards."

Nathaniel propelled me to the entrance of the drawing room and opened the door. I grinned when he joked to Sophie that I was not in Timbuktu after all.

"So where is he, my dear?" she asked.

I could not help but answer, "Right here, Sophie."

"John!" she cried, and I stepped into the room to greet her.

But I gasped when I saw her companion.

Sophie flew from her chair and stood on tip-toe to kiss my cheek, Nathaniel patted my back and slipped away, but my sight was pinned to Margaret Hale's luminous eyes.

"I know I need not introduce you to Miss Hale." said Sophie.

"No indeed." I managed to reply.

Margaret's gaze was welcoming, with none of the chilly disdain that I frequently saw in Milton. It gave me the courage to step up and take the hand that she offered me. I grasped it and muttered a greeting that evoked a half-smile from her lips. I could not imagine anything more enchanting. When my cousin ushered us to sit I loathed letting go, but my eyes could not be dragged away.

"I can see that you were rather startled to find us so cosy here." said Sophie cheerfully, "But was it not a marvellous coincidence that I met the one lady in London to have lived in Milton and known you?"

I could not help but smile. "A great coincidence – I did not know your aunt lived close by, Miss Hale. Where did you both meet?"

"In Regent's Park." Margaret replied. "Actually, I have the ducks to thank as they introduced me to Daisy – Miss Crawford, I mean – and then she introduced me to your cousin. I was also astonished to discover how many acquaintances we had in common."

She explained in a strangely tremulous voice how her aunt's house was across the park, how she would walk there with her cousin and her cousin's son, and ended her pretty speech by gently saying, "I am glad to see you again, Mr. Thornton."

My heart leaped with such joy that it rendered me momentarily speechless. After a moment I somehow found my voice and answered, "And I, Miss Hale. I cannot believe that it has been half-a-dozen months since you left us in Milton."

"Yes, they were six months that brought many startling changes. I was shocked to hear of Marlborough Mills closing."

So she knew that I had failed. Margaret, dressed in the first style of fashion, looked the very essence of success, while I felt unworthy to even be in her presence.

Looking away, I uttered, "It was not an easy decision to close the mill, but it was the only option I had if I was to pay my creditors and my men."

"You misunderstand me, Mr. Thornton." she countered. "I was only shocked to have heard that it had closed. Indeed, I would still be sceptical if I had not seen the mill for myself."

"You…" My ears could scarcely believe what they had heard. "Were you in Milton this week?"

"I came up yesterday and saw the empty yard and sheds. It was one of the most disheartening scenes I ever saw."

What reason had she to visit the mill? I dared not hope. "You were in Milton visiting friends, I suppose."

"Yes…" she faltered, "Among other things."

Sophie gave Margaret, and then myself, a curious glance – but she remained silent.

I continued, "I am sorry to not have been able to receive you when you had come so far."

"I actually… I spoke to your mother briefly and afterwards visited Mary Higgins. She told me that Nicholas was already looking for work, and also that you have been assisting the little Bouchers with their schooling."

I reddened. "They are good children and deserve a chance."

"Who are these children you speak of?" asked Sophie.

"The Bouchers are five little orphans that were adopted by their neighbour Higgins, who worked at the mill." I explained.

"My lord, he adopted five children?" Sophie exclaimed.

"Yes. Though Higgins is a very capable man, he and his daughter are only barely able to provide for them all, which was why I asked to help put the two eldest through school."

"I doubt any other master in Milton would help as you did the Bouchers." said Margaret quietly. "I am happy for them. They are such dear children and it would ease Nicholas' mind to know that they have a future. I have also been thinking about how I could help them. Knowing that you were assisting Tom and Beatrice, I have established a fund to provide for the younger children."

Generous-hearted Margaret! "That is very good of you, Miss Hale. I would have done more but I fear that it is not possible under my present circumstances."

"You did your best, Mr. Thornton. They have told me countless times what a godsend you have been."

"I am sure that no one who knows your situation would expect anything at all, John." said Sophie. She shook her head. "I cannot imagine how the past few months must have been. I only wish that I had been there for you and Aunt Thornton. How is my dear aunt taking it?"

"Mother is her usual stoic self, but I can see that the events of the past year have taken their toll. I wish I could end the hardship for her but there is still much to do. We have yet to pack up the house and find a smaller place." I exhaled. "Poor Mother, I have let her down badly. At least I did not let Fanny down too."

"And how is Fanny?"

"Very little changed, except that she visits home often, to Mother's delight. Watson does not approve of her coming since I refused his help."

"That man…" muttered Sophie. "I suppose he is smug now that he's proved you wrong."

"I have not met him in recent weeks, but others tell me that he has not exactly been discreet about his success. Well, in the end he still has his mill, and I do not."

"But you have your conscience and integrity in tact." interjected Margaret. "Isn't that more important than any success in the world?"

Our eyes met, and what I saw in hers I had never expected – pride – in me. I nodded slowly in reply and for the second time that day I saw the corners of her mouth gently lift into a smile.

"Do not worry John." said Sophie. "You are well-respected in Milton so there are bound to be opportunities for you. Whatever happens, your family will always be with you."

"I know. It is one of my few sources of hope at this time."

Margaret added, "Your cousin is right, Mr. Thornton. The whole of Milton knows that you are a fair and good business man. Besides, it may be possible to reopen the mill-"

She was cut short by an agitated Mrs. Markham, who burst through the door crying, "Oh ma'am, you are needed immediately. Nurse Hayes is in such a state!"

"What in the world has happened, Markham?"

"You had better come and find out for yourself, ma'am."

Sophie apologised and quickly left the room. I then made a move towards the tea set, but Margaret motioned me to return to my seat, saying, "You cannot be serving yourself when you have just arrived, Mr. Thornton."

She went to the sideboard and took up a cup and saucer. As she carefully poured the tea I was reminded of my first tea party at her Milton home. Her face was so beautiful, illuminated as it was by the candlelight, that it rendered me completely stupid. I did not know what the Hales thought of my innovative way of holding a cup but thankfully I had less trouble today.

Margaret's interrupted speech had me anxious. What did she mean by saying that it was possible to reopen the mill? Did she know of a potential investor or did she have a completely different scheme in mind?

Since she made no move to enlighten me, I gave in to prompting her myself. "Miss Hale, you were talking of the possibility of reopening the mill just before. Did you mean to look for another master?"

She seemed clearly surprised by my question and did not readily answer. I continued, "If you mean to do this then perhaps it is better if you start seeking soon. It would minimise your losses and there may be still a possibility of rehiring the old hands. After all, the machinery has not been completely dismantled-"

"Mr. Thornton! You cannot be more off the mark, sir!" she cried. "I did not propose such a scheme as a means of replacing you – I hardly think that I could find anyone with as much experience in cotton as you do. What I mean to do is to invest in Marlborough Mills so that _you_ may continue running it."

I reopen Marlborough Mills? How could she possibly wish it after the mess I had made? But she _had_ come to Milton, she _had_ offered to refinance the mill, so she must have a regard for my business abilities – but perhaps that was the only attribute she thought well of?

Unfortunately, she was not able to expand her answer – Sophie re-entered the room and was clearly distressed.

"Margaret, I am truly sorry but I really must leave you now – we have a genuine emergency and I have not a moment to lose. John, I may need your help."

"What is it Sophie?" I said in alarm.

"Daisy has run away – Nurse Hayes took her to the park, looked away for a moment – and she was gone!"

"Oh no!" cried Margaret. "I hope it was not because she was unable to see Sholto."

When Sophie acknowledged that that was a possibility Margaret was also determined to come. She countered Sophie's protests by saying, "I know the park well so I may be of assistance to you, Sophie."

My cousin could only concede and so ordered our coats, shawls and hats to be fetched. We then headed out to the duck pond where Nurse Hayes had taken Daisy.

"Thank heavens that Miss Brown, you know the Layton's governess, offered to stay at the pond in case Daisy returned." Nurse Hayes explained. "We searched for an age and there was absolutely no sign of her. I don't know where she might be. Oh! If only I had not taken my eyes off her. What if she was taken?"

A chill went through me. As a magistrate I had presided over numerous cases involving missing children – and knew very well what degradation man could lower himself to.

"Calm yourself, Miss Hayes." said Sophie. "She might have returned by now for all we know. You know how Daisy likes to wander about."

"But the police may need to be called if we do not find her soon, Sophie. Did you want to alert Nathaniel?" I asked.

She shook her head, "Not just yet. Let us look about the park first."

I asked Nurse Hayes, "Did you see anything out of the ordinary this morning? Perhaps a stranger lingering about?"

"I don't think so…" she replied hesitantly. "Miss Ricketts was there with the Lambton children, and Miss Grayson had Master Jefferies with her. Was Miss Stephens there too? Yes… yes she was. And Miss Brown, of course."

"Perhaps Daisy is merely playing hide and seek?" suggested Margaret.

"For over an hour?" countered Sophie. "I think not."

"But she was quite upset earlier so it may be possible, and if that is the case then she would not be far away."

"Let's hope you are right, Margaret." replied Sophie.

We arrived at the pond to find Miss Brown sitting on the bench anxiously trying to calm her charge, a boy of around seven – but Daisy was not with them.

Miss Brown stood as we approached. "Thank goodness you've come Mrs. Crawford! I do not think it possible to keep the young master here another minute! No sign of Miss Daisy either."

Sophie thanked Miss Brown, who spirited her charge home. My cousin looked worriedly about her and sighed. "I do think we must continue to search for a little longer. I have a feeling that she is not far away. But I do not think it wise for all of us to stick together if we are to cover the park."

"Yes, that is an excellent suggestion. I could start on the other side of the pond, if you like." volunteered Margaret.

"That would be grand, but I feel infinitely better if someone was with you, Margaret." And so she turned to me, saying, "John, perhaps you would accompany Miss Hale?"

I was momentarily taken aback. Would fiercely independent Margaret want to be accompanied? And by me?

I met her large – and hesitant – emerald eyes, and replied, "Only if she wishes it. Do you, Miss Hale?"


	11. Chapter 11

**At last, we've come to the end of this story. Thanks for journeying with Thornton and Margaret!**

* * *

In the Company of Children

By Winam

Chapter 11

I studied Mr. Thornton's clear, blue eyes and sensed his wariness. Whether it was from fear of breeching propriety or something else I did not know, but there could be no wavering on my part when a little girl was missing.

"There is no need to ask, sir – of course you may accompany me."

He bowed stiffly in acknowledgment before suggesting that we regroup. Our party then splintered off after agreeing to meet back in half-an-hour, Mr. Thornton and I setting off for the other side of the pond.

Despite his aloofness I was excited to be with him. I had barely been able to contain my joy when I heard his voice and then saw his striking figure enter the drawing room. I had forgotten how exquisitely handsome he was – how his great height made him appear larger than life, how his dark majesty could excite my entire being.

It was clear that he was surprised by my presence, but astoundingly he showed no sign of abhorrence. In fact, there was a softness in his gaze and voice that I had rarely seen, and despite his recent adversity he seemed in good spirits – until I mentioned the mill. Then I learnt of his true opinion of me – how he thought me opportunistic and lacking in compassion. Will I ever convince him of the genuineness of my offer?

Neither of us spoke until we had reached the other side of the pond. Mr. Thornton then scanned the surrounds before admitting, "Well, there does not seem to be any sign of Daisy here. Do you have any ideas on where she might be?"

I directed him to a path that led to a fountain – another popular place with children. Again, we walked wordlessly until I found the courage to break the silence.

"I honestly fear that I am to blame for Daisy's disappearance, Mr Thornton. She was extremely upset this morning when she found that Sholto was not with me, upset enough I feel to have run away."

"I doubt it, Miss Hale." said he. "I have spent enough time in Daisy's company to know that her countenance at present changes like the wind. My fear is that she is truly in danger."

Suppressing a sudden attack of anxiety, I replied, "We shall not fear the worst just yet. She may still be here in the park, I daresay."

"I agree that she may not be far away." he concurred, "There are certainly some grand hedges here that a child could hide in."

"Yes, but she would have reappeared by now if she was merely hiding. Unless…" A sudden thought struck me. "Unless she was trapped in her hiding place, like up a tree."

"A tree? There must be hundreds of trees in this park."

"But how many can be climbed by a five-year-old girl?"

Puzzlingly, I saw him cast the briefest of grins. "I gather that you have previous experience in climbing trees."

"Yes, when I was a girl." I replied, thinking back to the many afternoons spent in the treetops.

"Was it on the oak at the edge of the meadow or the willow on the village green?"

I halted, completely astonished by his words.

"No, you cannot have been to Helstone!"

"Why not?" he challenged. "Particularly after all that your father had told me?"

So he had visited Helstone in memory of my father. Papa would have been touched to know that his dearest friend in Milton had not forgotten him. "I think his heart never left the place." I reflected. "If circumstances had been different he would have lived out his life there."

"And a serene life it would have been. I never fully appreciated the countryside before, but it struck me on my visit how much I had missed as child, not having had the pleasure of climbing trees or being acquainted with wild ponies. What a wonderfully free childhood you and your brother must have had, Miss Hale!"

I gasped in shock and felt my knees weaken – so he knew!

Such was my bewilderment that it took me several attempts to ask him how long he had known.

"Only a few days." he replied gently. "You need not fear from the authorities – it was Higgins who told me of your brother – in the greatest confidence I might add."

I exhaled unsteadily from sheer relief. "Mr. Thornton, you cannot possibly comprehend how much I wished to tell you about Frederick."

I wanted him to know everything so there would be no more secrets, misunderstandings, or lies. So I told him of my brother's involvement in the mutiny, how he had been condemned for doing what was fair and right – condemned forever to exile.

"Mother suffered bitterly when she found out about the mutiny." I recounted, "By the time she fell ill my brother had been in Spain three years. Her final wish was to be able to see him again, so despite the risk of capture, I wrote urging him to come. It made Mamma very happy to have him by her side again – we were all happy to have him home – but it came at a price.

Though I kept my eyes averted, I still felt his intense gaze upon me. "Leonards lived in Helstone for a time and so knew about Frederick. When Dixon told us of meeting him, Father and I knew that Fred could not stay. We planned for him to leave on the night train, but somehow Leonards was at the station!"

"You weren't to know that he worked at Outwood."

"Did he? Well, he spotted Fred soon after we arrived. He threatened him and then took him by the collar. Fred shoved him away… And Leonards fell down the stairs…"

I bowed my head, unable to stop the shame from flooding in. "I cannot repent enough for what happened afterwards. I know that lying to the inspector only made things worse, but at the time I did not know what else to do. As long as Fred was in danger I knew that I had to keep his visit secret.

"If it was not for you…" I breathed in deeply. "I know you do not want to be thanked, but you must know that when you called off the investigation you were saving my brother's _life_. I am forever in your debt, Mr. Thornton, and _that_ I will never forget."

Fearing his disgust, I dared not meet his eyes – but I could never have predicted his response.

He stepped forward, and to my astonishment, took my hands and enclosed them in his.

"Oh Margaret, you owe me nothing."

My heart turned to hear my name pronounced so simply, so gently – so _lovingly_. But I must be dreaming, for surely he could not still love me? Could he?

"John…?"

At my call, his strong arms encircled me – and I was lost.

My tingling hands and thundering heart confirmed that his affection was indeed very real. The warmth of him, the texture of his coat against my cheek, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the very smell of him – these were glorious sensations too addictive to deny! Wanting more, I reached out to return his embrace.

"John." I whispered once more, relishing the sound of his name on my tongue.

He instantly tightened his hold, enfolding me deeper into his arms.

"Margaret, my courageous girl, my love…" I heard him murmur, and an overwhelming feeling of comfort, peace and perfect happiness radiated through me, cherished as I was by this man who somehow had become my all.

When I eventually pulled away to study his face, I saw that the furrow in his brow had disappeared along with the iciness in his eyes. We gazed at each other, unaware of anything aside from our heightened breathing, glowing cheeks and beaming smiles.

But reality intruded – in the faint sound of muffled tears.

"Do you hear someone crying?" I inquired.

"No… Wait, yes I do hear it."

I looked about me but could not pinpoint the source. John too looked around and then strode off in the direction of the sound. Thankfully he had not far to go – Daisy sat in a tree less than thirty yards away. I looked up to see the little girl straddling a branch some eight feet above the ground, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. Though she looked visibly frightened, there seemed to be nothing else wrong with her.

"Daisy! Are you alright?" John called to up to her.

She shook her head vehemently. "I'm scared."

"Stay where you are – we will help you down." he assured her, before vaulting on to one of the lower branches.

Daisy watched wide-eyed as her Uncle John scaled the tree. In an attempt to set her at ease, I asked, "However did you get up so high?"

"Tommy dared me to climb, so we climbed and climbed. But I got scared and then he left me all alone. I've been here ever so long, and no one has come until you and Uncle John."

John had by then reached the branch directly beneath Daisy's and held out his arms. "Here I am, Daisy. Can you slide down to this branch here? Yes, that's the way, one foot and then the other. And now to this one…"

Slowly, they made their way down the tree one branch at a time until I was able to take Daisy from John's arms and place her on the ground. When I found her shaking, I wrapped my arms around her and said, "You need not be frightened any more, my dear – you are safe."

She threw her arms around me, crying, "I'm glad you're here, Miss Hale! And thank you for saving me, Uncle John!"

John jumped down to the ground, lifted Daisy into his arms and kissed her cheek. He then pulled out his handkerchief and wiped away her tears before declaring, "I am glad you are safe, my little one. Would you like to return to your mother? She would be very happy to see you."

Her reply was a resounding 'yes', so hand-in-hand, the three of us returned to the pond. Sophie was indeed ecstatic to see Daisy, running from the other side of the pond to meet us. She lavished her with cuddles and kisses, but Sophie was also quick to show gratitude to her daughter's rescuers.

"Good cousin John, dearest Margaret, I thank you for bringing Daisy back safe and sound. My child, do you now understand why you should not wander out of sight?"

Daisy nodded. "I don't like being in trouble or being scared up a tree all alone. But I've learned something else too, Mamma."

When her mother asked what that was, Daisy replied, "That I must have Uncle John with me when I climb trees! He is a very good climber."

This drew another hearty kiss from her mother along with amused smiles from John and myself. "Goodness, I have certainly involved you in one near disaster after another, have I not?" Sophie said to me, "And now I have kept you away from your luncheon too! You need not stay and worry your aunt further, Margaret."

"I suppose it is time for me to head back, but we must meet again soon."

When Sophie assured me that she would call in the next day or two, I turned to leave – but was arrested by a touch on the arm.

"May I accompany you home, Miss Hale?" John asked.

Unable to refuse such a tempting offer, I instantly accepted.

We took leave of the ladies, and John then offered me his arm. I took it smilingly, thinking of Anne Latimer and her past efforts to gain his attention. The smile did not escape him.

"What amuses you, Miss Hale?" he asked as we leisurely strolled towards Harley Street.

I shook my head. "I had better not say, Mr. Thornton."

"Indeed? It must certainly be very amusing then."

I grinned even more broadly. "It may be odd, but I was thinking of Miss Latimer, whom I observed used to derive much pleasure from taking your arm."

"Mmm," he replied, a little piqued by my remark. "And what did you observe of _me_?"

"You certainly did not object to her attentions."

That pleased him even less, but rather perversely, I continued on. "No, at the time I was certain that you enjoyed her company. Your sister undoubtedly thought her suitable for you, much more suitable than my presence ever was. In fact, she even hinted that a match was imminent-"

"Margaret!"

He turned me roughly by the shoulders to face him. "You must know, Margaret. There has only ever been one woman to win my heart, and that woman…"

Suddenly he dipped his head and eagerly pressed his lips against mine. Stunned by his swiftness, I replied tentatively at first, but the feel of his lips became so intoxicating that I could not help return his kisses with equal ardour. Very soon we were caught in a whirlpool of yearning, joy, and tenderness.

After a long, sumptuous moment, it was he who pulled away, though only to capture my face in his hands. "That woman is _you_, my love." he murmured, softly kissing my brow.

Feeling dangerously faint, I asked breathlessly, "Please… Let us find a place to rest for a moment."

Somehow he managed to guide me to a secluded bench and then sat down beside me. He kissed my hand but did not release it, choosing instead to stroke it delicately with his thumb. I held my breath as the tiny movement sent sharp pulses of sensation throughout my body. Raising my eyes to his, I was exalted by the unconcealed adoration I saw there.

"Oh John…" I sighed, "I cannot believe that I awoke today thinking that you could not ever care for me again."

"I had once told you that I loved you."

"That was an age ago, and not even the strongest love could endure all that had passed since then. I…"

I shook my head as I was once again filled with shame. "I refused to recognise your true worth at first, refused to see the strong, intelligent, and kind man in front of me. When I realised that the man I was determined to despise was the finest man of my acquaintance and the one whom I loved, it was too late!"

Lowering my voice, I murmured, "I deserved to be rejected for all the pain I caused you, and I thought you had long forgotten me."

He put his arm snugly around my shoulders. "I may have tried to forget, but I never came close to succeeding. I was, and still am, utterly bewitched by you, my darling."

At his poignant words, I laid my head upon his shoulder, nestling ever closer to him. His voice brimmed with emotion, as he told me, "When the mill closed I felt like I was drowning in despair – from failing everyone I cared for, from knowing that I had wasted years of toil. I would have little reason to hope if it were not for you, Margaret. _You _are my inspiration, for you had overcome hardships much greater than mine."

I blushed. "I do not warrant such a compliment. I may seem strong, but I am only a flawed human being, no different from anyone else. You had yourself progressed from draper's assistant to master before the age of thirty against all expectations."

"I have had my trials, but they were nothing compared to yours." He looked down at me in earnest. "You have lost both home and family in a short space of time and still remained strong – for me there could be no greater inspiration. I went to Helstone to learn how my Margaret came to be, and the answer arrived from simply wandering through the meadow. Its peacefulness brought home just how different our childhoods were – how happy and free you must have been – and how your family should have been congratulated for surviving the move to Milton."

Intriguingly, he delved deep into his pocket – and extracted a yellow rose. "Do you recognise this?" he asked.

I took the flower, and laughed dryly when I realised its origin. "Is it from the parsonage?"

He nodded. "A little battered, but resilience and luck has seen it through, just as it has seen us through. We may not have met again if Higgins had not told me of your brother."

Buoyed by pure bliss, I beamed up at him. "Then we must find a way to thank Nicholas."

"Yes, we must." he added, lifting a hand to cup my cheek. "For today has been the greatest of miracles."

His whole countenance spoke of love, a love that echoed in my heart. I tenderly ran a hand over the roughness of his jaw and the silkiness of his hair, until it settled around his neck.

Gazing into his clear, blue eyes, I whispered, "My dearest John, I do not want this day to end."

In response, he simply smiled. "Do not fear, my love, for you will have many more like it…" he said enigmatically, "If you will have me."

* * *

**Sigh, all things must come to an end. Please tell me what you think!**


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